


The Field of Battle

by Scribe32oz



Series: The Fourth Age [6]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 00:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 95,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe32oz/pseuds/Scribe32oz
Summary: Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed with the bold plan of an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war. Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose.Warning: Rape is mentioned but not described in detail.





	1. The Harvest of Lebethron

**Author's Note:**

> What has gone on before:
> 
> The proposed alliance between the Reunified Kingdom and the Easterling Confederacy has come to an end during the treaty celebrations in Minas Tirith, following the discovery that the king of the Haradrim, Ulfrain, had entered a dark alliance with the skin changers from the First Age. Ulfrain and his allies had attempted to assassinate the Ruling Council of Middle earth, comprising of Aragorn of Gondor, Eomer of Rohan, Imrahil of Dol Amroth, Faramir of Ithilien, Legolas Greenleaf of the elven colony Eden Ardhon in South Ithilien and Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves and ruler of Aglarond. During the subsequent battle, the commander of his armies, Castigliari who like the rest of the Easterling Confederacy knew nothing of this pact, was forced to kill Ulfrain. Unfortunately upon his return home, the general is executed for the murder of his king.
> 
> Forces in the Easterling nations, weary of the diplomatic solutions to solve their crisis of impending famine, chose a military alternative and issues a declaration of war against the Reunified Kingdom and all its allies. Hostilities have yet to begin, but it is only a matter of time………

The air was thick with the scent of felled trees and sawdust but none of those gathered in the forest this day seemed to mind terribly. Those who had taken part in the ceremony of harvest were more than accustomed to the characteristics of the day and those who were still novices to the culmination of Lebethron’stoil would soon have time enough to learn. After all, the harvest was an annual ritual and those who were new to it on this occasion would not be in the following year.

Anna and her brother Anton wished they were allowed to participate in the festivities. Unfortunately, their father had unfairly claimed that they were too young to be involved in either the felling of the trees marked ready for harvest or aiding the women in the preparation of the meal that followed the day’s work. Both were very disappointed but took heart in the fact that they were not the only ones who were allotted this curious state of limbo during the harvest. Other children were also lingering unhappily on the outskirts of all the activity being undertaken so religiously by the senior members of the Lebethron.

For each year since Anna was old enough to remember and far longer than her existence she was certain, the harvest had continued in this way. Lebethron was located on the banks of the Anduin and while for much of the year, the town subsisted on the spoils of the great river, on this day each year, the town turned its attention to the one activity for which Lebethron was known throughout Middle earth. Nowhere else was the tree known as Lebethron, after which the town was named, was known to exist. Careful to ensure this precious commodity was not squandered, the people of Lebethron regarded their cultivation of the wood as a sacred trust. Only a select number of trees were allowed to be felled each year and the rest of the forest was left to thrive until the following year.

Once the allotted number of trees fell to the axe, Lebethron’s carpenters would either fashion the wood themselves or send the precious lumber to Gondor or Rohan, to the ministration of craftsman with artistic endeavours of their own. Of late, they had received requests from Ithilien and the elven colony of Eden Ardhon as well. The wood Lebethron was better known throughout the Reunified Kingdom and the lands of Middle earth than the town itself but its folk did not mind for it was the wood that had given life to their community to begin with.

Since the earliest days of this trade, the folk of Lebethron had made the harvest something of a ritual and it was a matter of pride that everyone participated in the process. Men would aid in the felling of trees, while their older counterparts would examine the forest and mark the trees that would be ready for next year’s harvest. Women would set up their cooking pots near by, furnishing meals and providing comfort to the men who would continue this exhausting work for the number of days it required to complete it.

For Anna, this was the seventh harvest of her life.

The others were vague in her memory but her brother who was two harvests older than she, promised that it was a day of surprises looked forward to by everyone. Despite being unable to participate in the actual harvest, the children were having a wonderful time watching their fathers and mothers going about their business while being allowed to play in a part of the forest that was customarily restricted to them for the rest of the year. Being allowed to wander freely in so forbidden a place was exciting and it also made them feel included in the harvest even if they were not allowed to contribute anything to the annual ritual.

Anna was the smallest of the children her age. Even though she was seven, many people often mistook her for being five, a very grave insult as far as she was concerned. However, her small size did have its advantages in that if she had no desire to be found, it was virtually impossible for anyone to do so. This particularly useful when she engaged in games of hide and seek or when she was called to nap by her mother and had no taste for it. Anton often claimed, inspired by jealousy no doubt, that one day she would hide so well that everyone would forget about her.

At seven, this was rather a frightening notion and Anna resolved herself to be careful to not hide herself  _too well_  in case she was never found.

Holding a candied apple in her hand rather gingerly, Anna found herself a comfortable place to watch her father helping with the sawing of a fallen tree into manageable lengths for loading into the wagons assembled. Her brother was off with the other boys, running through the trees, while the other children were engaged in their own games. Anna was content to shift her attention between her father working and her mother gossiping happily with the other women at the cooking hearths as she nibbled through the crusted layer of honey surrounding the apple she was holding by the stick impaled through it.

Everyone was working hard and enjoying the sunshine above their heads, even Anna could feel the warmth against the skin there were moments when she wanted to do nothing but stare into the brilliance of the sun above. However, mama said she must not look too closely at Laurelin’s last fruit because it would hurt her eyes but sometimes, Anna wanted to look at the beauty that Yavanna had coaxed from the golden tree of Valinor. Papa said that she was named after Yavanna and Anna often stared at the sky hoping that she might catch out the elusive lady whose name she shared.

Suddenly Anna felt something beneath her. It reached from beneath the soil and moved through her bones like a worm creeping across her skin, sending shudders through her body. Anna looked up in question and saw that no one else had noticed the curious sensation as of yet. This was most likely since they were all rather engaged in what they were doing and had yet to sense it. She placed her palm against the grass and felt the low rumble reach into her skin with even more intensity. Her small face contracted with concern and she wondered if she should tell papa about it.

She needed not have worried.

The strange feeling emanating from the ground became stronger and as if it were sweeping across their faces as it was through the earth, Anna saw the work coming to a gradual halt as people ceased what they were doing, forgetting all about the harvest as they looked about in concern. The sound of laughter and voices speaking had fallen into a dead silence as everyone strained to listen. Anna could tell that there was something terribly wrong. She could see it in the worried way that mama and papa were searching the woods for Anton and her. Mama had started to walk away from the other women, trying to find her. Anna did not like to see mama afraid and started to emerge from her hiding place when suddenly, the tremors became rumbling and that inspired fear in everyone.

"Anna!" Mama called her as everyone started to scatter. Papa had left what he was doing and hurrying towards mama.

Other people were collecting their children in a hurry, stricken expressions of fear on their faces. Anna started to cry because their fear made her scared and though she hated to cry like a baby, she could think of no other way to express her anxiety. The rumbling was so loud now she could hear it everywhere. It was almost as loud as thunder but there were no clouds in the sky or any signs of impending rain.

"Mama!" Anna cried through the frantic voices of folk hurrying away and felt a flood of relief when her mama turned at the sound of her voice.

Anna saw mama coming towards her when suddenly, exploding through the trees in deafening noise was an animal she had never seen before. It was not a horse but much bigger with a nose so long that it looked like snake and curling horns as thick as a branch from a tree. It made a noise like a horn blaring and it thundered forward with such force, that everything beneath it was crushed underfoot. Sitting on top of its back on a harness like a rider on a horse, was a man and he was not alone. As mama screamed, more and more of the strange animals appeared through the trees, moving across the land and trampling everything in sight, until the sound of them drowned out her voice.

Anna scrambled back to her hiding place and watched as the beasts ran down her parents in a cloud of dust and blood. She watched them continue their rampage, driving into the dirt, the hard labour of the harvest, until logs lay strewn across the ground and the cooking pots that contained food were shattered into the dirt. Once they had done their worst where the harvest was meant to be, they continued their thunderous advance towards the village, trailing a cloud of dust and leaving behind mama and papa behind them.

Anna saw her parents where they had fallen on the ground, surrounded by the tracks of the great beasts, their bodies in complete ruin. The image of their broken bones and torn skin wetting the earth with blood was burned into her mind as if it were branded there by flame. Anna closed her eyes and turned away, her body curling into a tight ball. She hugged her knees tight and wept, wishing to hear nothing else but was powerless to escape the terrible image of blood and death that was once her parents.

Anna did not see the destruction of the village as it fell to the onslaught of the mamakus. The beasts rampaged across Lebethron and brought down villagers as easily as it had done to her parents. At first, the menfolk were killed by the riders of the mamakus from atop their harnesses, either impaled by spears or struck by arrows. When all the structures in the village had been trampled into the dirt, the riders dismounted and began sweeping across Lebethron to deliver its destruction in a more precise hunt for prey.

The men and children died quickly but the women unfortunately did not.

Lebethron had no strategic value. Its lumber as precious as it was to the rest of Middle earth, held little interest to the invading army whose primary concern was grain. As the anguished shrieks of the women soared into the evening, the appearance of the full moon in the sky marked the beginning of a sinister silence that left Anna with the terrible realisation that she was now all alone. She really had been forgotten and as her young mind retreated into the dark place it would not emerge from for some time, Anna did not know whether or not she should be grateful for being allowed to live.

The army that swept into Lebethron with the purpose of killing every man, woman and child before the sun set that day on the harvest had a greater purpose in mind.

It was to tell the rulers of the western lands to beware; war was coming.


	2. The Calm Before the Storm

Despite it being the customary practice for Aragorn’s manservant to lay out his clothes for the day, Arwen preferred to take charge of that responsibility herself. It was one of the few chores she considered her right as his wife to perform, despite her station as Queen of Gondor. To Arwen, the task of readying her husband for his responsibilities beyond the confines of their private chambers was something she felt the need to do because she wanted to show him how much she loved him. Just as much as he enjoyed watching in fascination as she dressed in the morning or undressed in the evening, Arwen took similar pride in laying out his clothes each morning since the beginning of their married life.

She would place his garments across ornate wing chair next to her dressing table, then remove Anduril from its place across the mantle over the fireplace before selecting what boots he would need in accordance with his agenda for the day. To Arwen, it was a pleasure helping the man she loved so dearly, slip into the role of king who was as equally adored by his people as he was by his wife. Arwen knew that Aragorn enjoyed this ritual as much as she because it reminded them both that before they were King and Queen of Gondor, they were first husband and wife.  

Today, Arwen saw no joy in the duty she would have normally found so much pleasure in undertaking. How could she when what she was doing was laying out his travelling clothes, painfully aware that when he finally wore them, he would be embarking on a journey that would take him far away from her? She laid out his things and tried not to show the emotion that was clawing its way through the composure she had maintained for most of the morning. Her fingers trembled as she worked, her anguish at his departure for yet another battle tugging at her control with relentless determination.

This was not right, she thought as the tears welled up in her eyes despite all her efforts to contain them.

After everything that they had endured to maintain the peace following the destruction of Sauron and the War of the Ring, they should not be faced with yet another conflict, especially one they had worked so hard to avoid. Arwen could not believe that all their efforts to create a lasting peace with the Easterlings had been destroyed so utterly by the shape shifters who had seized control of Minas Tirith through their agent Ulfrain, only weeks ago. Even though Gondor had managed to drive the usurpers out of the kingdom, it appeared that the shape shifters had won after all. A state of war now existed between the Reunified Kingdom and the confederacy of Easterling nations.

The outbreak of hostilities had yet to occur but Aragorn knew that it was only a matter of time. The Rangers who had not been killed whilst conducting their surveillance of the enemy territory had reported the rise of a new Haradrim leader. The Haradrim possessing much influenced among the Easterlings in the same manner that Gondor influenced the kingdoms around it, had enlisted a formidable list of allies ready to wage war upon the Reunified Kingdom. Among these were the remnants of many armies, such as the Corsairs of Umbar, the Varigs of Khand, what Wainriders that had not perished in the Dead Marshes and even a disturbing report that the Dunlendings interest might have been similarly stirred.

It appeared that the Haradrim was provoking the need to restore injured pride in any race that had met defeat during the War of the Ring and their cause was fast gaining momentum among the dissatisfied Easterlings and Southerns alike. Little was known of the leader who had risen to bring about this impressive solidarity but it was said that he was the son of a chieftain who ascendancy was credited to Ulfrain’s death. Whatever his claims to power, it was evident that he was a formidable and charismatic leader capable of bringing together a formidable force comprising of different armies.

For the past weeks, the Ruling Council of Middle earth, comprising the forces of Gondor, Rohan, Dol Amroth and Ithilien had been engaged in preparations for war. Eomer was fortifying Edoras and the lands of Rohan closest to the Dunlending border, to ensure that should the Dunlendings choose to throw in their lot with the enemy, Rohan would not be caught unawares. The battle at the Ford of Isen and Helms Deep was still fresh in the minds of its people and they had no wish to be trapped in such a manner again, for this time, there would be no last minute reprieve from the Huorns.

Gondor had sent its troops to bolster the strength of Ithilien for it was surmised that when the hostilities began, it would most likely take place there. Legolas had pledged the aid of Eden Ardhon to aid in the war effort when it began although Aragorn had cautioned his involvement, for it was generally understood by both sides that the elves were considered a neutral party. As Eden Ardhon itself sat in a precarious position between Gondor and its enemies, Aragorn would prefer not to make the elven community a target, not that the confederacy would be foolish enough to try. An attack upon an elven colony would bring about the wrath of the elves remaining in Middle earth and not even they were foolish enough to provoke that sleeping dragon.

Today, Aragorn would be leaving Minas Tirith to join Faramir in Ithilien in anticipation of the attack that was all but certain to take place. Despite her profound sadness to see him leave, she knew that he was not a king that was content to remain safely behind the battlelines while his kingdom fought for its existence. The man she had fallen in love with could never be so callous and yet to let him be that man, she could not stop him from going either. It was a painful thing, this business of being queen and for the first time, she wished that both of them could be rid of this weight, no matter how selfish it sounded.

Gazing out the window, she could see the soldiers moving through the ramparts that made up the rings of the Citadel. They were marching with purpose to the outer walls of the Citadel but would not to begin their journey to Ithilien until Aragorn took his place and led them out of Minas Tirith. Arwen turned away from the scene, aware that she was becoming more emotional than she should and it would not do for Estel to see her in such a state. She wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to regain some measure of elven poise as she glided away across the floor to the door of the adjoining room.

When she emerged into the main chamber of their suite, she saw Aragorn at the head of the dinner table, supporting Eldarion on his lap. The king was presently amusing his son by making the child’s puppy to stand on its rear legs to reach the piece of food dangling inches beyond its reach. Eldarion was giggling happily, unaware that his father would not be entertaining him in this fashion for quite some time, before Aragorn finally took pity upon the poor dog and rewarded its efforts with the morsel in his hand.

"I have laid out your clothes," Arwen remarked neutrally as she approached father and son. "I have also ensured that your servant has stored away everything you would need for your journey to Ithilien."

Aragorn raised his eyes to his wife and was able to see through her seemingly composed manner despite her best efforts to hide it from him. He knew that she ached at his departure and wished there was something he could do to soothe her worries beyond his words of assurance. Unfortunately, he could not bring himself to lie to the mother of his child that what he was embarking upon was less than what it was. They were in a state of war and inevitably in such conflicts, there was always the danger of never returning, even when one was king.

"Thank you Undomiel," he said gently, trying to make this easy for her even though he knew it was impossible. "I suppose I should make a start soon. The sun is climbing and I should not keep my army awaiting."

"Yes," Arwen nodded, trying to sound brave but feeling anything but that. "How many days do you think it will take you to arrive at Ithilien?"

"Not long," he answered, rising from his chair. He placed Eldarion on the floor with the infant’s toys and left the child to his canine playmate as he went to her. "Much of our supplies and troops are already in Ithilien, those accompanying me on this occasion are more for my protection than any other reason. They forget that I know how to look after myself."

"They wish your safety," Arwen returned softly, "I see no harm in that."

 "Undomiel," he lowered himself onto one knee before her and took her hand in his, "it will be alright."

 "How can it be?" she cried out, unable to keep her emotions reined when he spoke to her in such a manner. "You should not be going! We have fought enough battles! We were so close to achieving peace, to never have to fight another war again! I hate those damn shape shifters for what they have done! Death was too good for them!"

"You do not mean that," Aragorn answered with gentle understanding of her anxieties. "The Easterlings are not evil Undomiel, merely wounded and afraid that their way of life is under threat. That does not excuse their actions now but if I am blinded by my hatred for them, then battle is the least I have to worry about when facing them."

"I know," she broke down, tears running down her cheeks as she gazed upon him with eyes glistening. "I do not wish you to go but I know that you must. It is this that I hate so much, that I must give you up for the sake of the kingdom."

Aragorn stood up and took his wife into his arms because she needed to feel his embrace. All the frustration she felt at this moment was feelings he could understand very well because he shared them in no small part. He did not wish to leave his wife or his son to embark upon another campaign but he was king and with that title came responsibilities. Arwen knew this as well as he, though at this moment she was having difficulty coping its demands. She would not be the woman he loved otherwise.

"I will be fine my love," Aragorn promised her as he caressed his cheek against the soft strands of her hair, taking a deep breath of the scent as he did so. "I promise you that I will allow no harm to befall me." 

"I will miss you so much," Arwen said softly. "When you leave here, you take a part of me that nothing can fill." 

"Just as I leave a part of myself here with you," he replied, meeting her gaze. "I need you to be strong Undomiel. Whatever happens out there, you need to be strong here, for Gondor and for our son." 

Arwen nodded as Aragorn lifted her chin with his finger and lowered his lips to hers in a tender kiss. When their lips brushed against each other, it had the power to drive away the despair in her heart, even for a fleeting moment. She felt her soul sigh in happiness at his touch and ignored the realisation that when he pulled away, she would be left with an emptiness that would not be satiated until she felt this intimacy with him again. 

"You are the bravest woman that I know," Aragorn spoke when they had parted. "You will manage without me, you always could and while this conflict may separate us, it can never break us apart. I carry you in my heart wherever I go Undomiel, you are my banner and the reason that I would fight every evil in Middle earth." 

"I wish I could be the reason you stayed," Arwen replied, "but I am my father’s daughter and I know that sometimes responsibility must come ahead of love." 

"Nothing comes ahead of love," he corrected her. "I fight not only to protect my kingdom and my family but to ensure that our son will not have to fight battles, that his future will be one of peace, not of bloodshed." 

"I want his future to be one where he knows his father," Arwen countered. "Can you me promise that?"  

Aragon fell silent for a moment and answered, "my father made that promise to my mother and we both know that he was unable to keep it. I will not make oaths I cannot keep Undomiel, but I can promise you I will do everything in my power to return to you and our son." 

Arwen pulled him to her again in another tight embrace and decided that would simply have to do for now.

* * *

 

 "No, Faramir!" Eowyn declared sharply over the table.

 "Eowyn," the lord of Ithilien sucked in his breath and controlled his annoyance at his wife’s stubbornness. "Is it possible for you to obey me once?"

 "I would do anything for you Faramir," Eowyn met her husband’s eyes and wished he would relent in this tiresome argument. For days now, she had heard the same request and each time her answer to him was the same. Her patience was wearing thin and his had almost run out, however, Eowyn was not going to submit. "However, I will not run to Minas Tirith and leave you here."

 "An attack could come at any time," Faramir retorted. "I do not want you on the front lines if that happens."

 Eowyn knew that her agreement was not required if he was determined to see her go. The only reason he was asking at all was because he loved her and had never presumed to lord over her as if she were his chattel instead of his wife. However, she knew that he was afraid for her life and though she loved him for his affection, Eowyn was not about to run to the safety of the White City and leave him alone during this crisis.

"Faramir," she reached across the table and took her hand in his. "I remain because I cannot bear the thought of leaving you and also because it would not do to have the lady of Ithilien to depart when we are trying to convince our people that we are able to protect them."

Faramir cursed under his breath because she was right. While he had been preparing for battle these past weeks, he had also been attempting to promote a feeling of confidence to Ithilien’s people that they was capable of defending against any menace the enemy chose to assail them with. If Eowyn were to leave, it would be a severe blow to the morale of those who chose to remain and fight because it would appear that the Prince himself had no confidence in their ability to defend Ithilien if he was sending his lady elsewhere for safety. Faramir wished Eowyn were not such a wise tactician but underestimating Eowyn was a mistake made by most people, not just he.

"I wish you were not so damned perceptive, woman," Faramir grumbled, his annoyance showing his admission of defeat. "I only wish you to leave because I cannot bear to lose you though I am certain my life would not be as vexed if you were not in it." 

Eowyn smiled warmly, knowing his harsh words were only meant to mask his worry for her. She loved him for it but she was not about to leave him when their kingdom was in such danger. It was not in her nature to run from anything and certainly, not from her husband’s side. "You would be bored out of your mind if it were not for me," she gave him a playful wink. "Admit it, I may vex you, but your life is full of surprises."

Faramir rolled his eyes and muttered, "I suppose that is one way in which one might look upon it."  

However, his fingers had become entwined between her own and that was more telling than the words he was speaking. For all her stubbornness, Faramir adored his wife nonetheless because she filled his life with surprise and passion the likes of which he had never known. His desire for her to leave for Minas Tirith was born out of his fears of losing her but in truth, he was also proud by the fortitude she displayed in wishing to remain at his side. How could he not be hopelessly in love with such a glorious creature as this?

 "You are not eating," he noted, as his gaze shifted briefly to her plate where the meal prepared was barely touched.

 "I do not feel well," Eowyn answered with a little frown.

 "Again?" Faramir’s brow arched. "That is the third time this week your appetite has been waning so. Are you certain you are alright?"

 "I am not eating because I am worried sick about what has happened," Eowyn said dismissively. "I can’t help thinking about poor Castigliari."

 "Yes," Faramir nodded, feeling a pang of grief form the Haradrim general who had tried to do the right thing at the treaty and paid for it with his life. "He was a good man, far too good to deserve the fate that awaited him upon his return home."

 Glad that he was focussing on another subject, Eowyn was more than happy to add her own commend to the discussion. "Do you think he knew that this could happen to him, Faramir?"

 Faramir considered her question and remembered how sombre the Easterling delegation had been when they were leaving Minas Tirith. Castigliari in particular had been sombre but at the time the Ruling Council believed it was because he was taking the body of his king back to his people. Now Faramir wondered if his melancholy was not attributed instead to knowing what would be the consequences for what he had done. Reports from the Rangers in that region revealed that Castigliari’s trial had been a speedy affair, more for the purpose of inciting public outrage at his actions and provoking even more hostility towards the Reunified Kingdom who was painted as the chief architect of the murder.

"It is possible," Faramir answered after a moment, "he was concerned about returning home but Aragorn and I believed it was largely due to how news of Ulfrain’s alliance with the skin changers would be received, not because he would be held culpable for the king’s death."

 "This world is far too ugly and brutal," Eowyn shook her head in disgust. "When Sauron was destroyed, the madness should have ended but it lives like a living, breathing creature that cannot die. As soon as we vanquish one foe, we are faced with another. When does it end?"

 Faramir kept to himself his observations that his wife was in a particular dark mood of late. Considering the current situation, he could not blame her of course but her temperament had been laced with an impatience for things that should have been a way of life for them by now. Besides, he had never known Eowyn with a preference for things to be dull. His wife loved adventure and was rather made for it he thought. While she attended her duties as his wife within the court of Ithilien, she craved the extraordinary now and then. Fortunately, the trials their life seemed to face often satiated this need but Faramir was having difficulty believing that she wanted a quieter existence, even if he was somewhat pleased she wished to put herself out of harm’s way for a change.

 "Darkness lies everywhere," he answered, still a little mystified by her behaviour. "Sauron may have caused much of it but not all. There are some threats that have little to do with magic or prophecy and simply are because of greed and ambition."

 "I am sick of war," Eowyn said unhappily. "I am sick of it living with it all my life, first from the Dunlendings, then Isengard, Sauron and now this too. It is no wonder that I cannot eat. How can I think of food when you are going to face who knows what?"

 "So that is what this is about?" Faramir stared at her. "You are worried because I will be soon leaving to join the king?"

 "Yes, too many times I have lost the ones I loved in battle. First my father, followed by my mother who grew sick from grief and then my uncle. I have no idea how Eomer will fare when the battle reaches Edoras and now you are joining the king, awaiting an attack. I will not lose you too."

Faramir was rather surprised by the emotion she was displaying for his wife was no usually so sentimental. Eowyn was a daughter of a royal house and knew what it was to face this kind of duty. He supposed that she had a right to feel differently when it was a husband that was leaving her to go to war but seeing this display was rather unnerving and Faramir began to suspect that there might be more to it than what lay on the surface.

"Eowyn," he said seriously, "what troubles you so? It is more than the coming battle for I have not seen you in this state before. Please," he clutched her hand tightly, "tell me."

"I am not going with you and that I cannot go with you," she answered after a moment. Staring into his eyes, she wanted badly to tell him what worried her so but she dared not. He should not be burdened with such knowledge before he went off to do battle. She knew better than anyone how great a killer distraction could be on the battlefield. She did not wish to inflict that upon her husband when it was so necessary for him to come home to her.

"It is necessary for you to remain here in Ithilien," Faramir explained, sensing if there was not more than this but could not say for certain that she was deceiving him when he saw so much anguish in her eyes. "Our people need your strength and the days coming will be dark ones. They need someone to direct them when their fear becomes too much. You are the only one I feel capable of leaving such a duty. You are not only the Lady of Ithilien but you are the shield maiden of Rohan, the slayer of the Witch King. Your voice carries significant weight not only with our people but with the soldiers I leave here to protect the city."

"Then I should be with you on the battlefield," Eowyn met his eyes, "for it is there I will be of most to you."

 Faramir opened his mouth to answer but Eowyn interrupted.

"But I know that I cannot come with you and that my place is here, so you need not worry I will do anything foolish as I did when I joined Theoden in the march to Pelennor," Eowyn replied with a little smile.

"Actually I thought that you are probably right," Faramir added with a slight chuckle, "you are formidable with a blade but I am glad to know that I will not have to keep watch for you."

"You should go make ready to leave," Eowyn replied. "I believe Beregond is waiting for you."

Faramir had forgotten, having been so rapt in the discussion with his wife that the meeting with the Captain of his guard had slipped his mind. However, he had a sense that she wished to be alone, perhaps to process what was said though there was still this nagging sensation that she had not been truthful about what troubled her. Unfortunately, Faramir had learnt from experience that Eowyn would tell him nothing until she was ready and lest he wanted to drive himself into further vexation trying to discern what was on her mind, Faramir decided that it was best to simply let the matter be.

"We will talk again," he said giving him a little kiss before walking out of the room.

Eowyn watched him go and did not break her gaze at the path he had taken out of her presence until many minutes had passed. Once she returned her attention back to the table and its contents, her first action was to slide the plate away. The smell of it did little to settle her queasy stomach and knowing the cause of it did not make her troubles any less. If anything it complicated things considerably. Lately, her mind kept returning to her parents. Orcs in Emyn Muil had killed her father Eomund, when she was a child. Her mother had never really recovered from the experience of birthing Eowyn and had remained sickly for years after. However, upon learning of her husband’s death, what strength she had was sapped away in grief and drove her inevitably to her grave.

She and Eomer were then raised in the house of Theoden who treated them like his own children but Eowyn never forgot the parents that sired her, nor did she cease to miss them. Eomer in particular, missed their mother though he never said it out loud. How could he, when he was the Marshall of the Mark by the time he reached his early twenties? With Faramir now riding to face a new war after the alarming reports of the Haradrim amassing a considerable army, Eowyn was terrified that she would lose her husband the way Theodwyn had lost Eomund.

Even more frightening was the thought that the child slumbering in her womb would know nothing of its father.

She should have told him. She wanted so much to tell him but she could not bear to burden him with such news when he was about to ride off into battle. Eowyn knew that if she told him that she was carrying his child, Faramir would never leave her side and it was imperative that he did for the sake of their kingdom and their future. For the last week, she had kept this secret inside her, trying desperately to hide the signs not only from her husband but also from the household staff who might inadvertently reveal it to Faramir if they started their gossiping.

She knew there would come a time when she could no longer hide the truth and Eowyn prayed that this conflict would be over before she had to bring news to Faramir on the battlefield that he was a father.

* * *

Eomer was furious with himself.

He should have sent her home long before this but had succumbed to the desires of his heart by allowing her to remain. She should be safely at home in Dol Amroth under her father’s roof, not trapped here in Edoras with him. In truth, he could still send her home if he so wished it, escorted by a dozen Rohirrim to ensure that she arrived there safely, however, Eomer could not bring himself to have her leave Meduseld. He was not long past his thirtieth year and certainly passed the time when, as king, he should have taken a wife. While he endured the insistent suggestions by his counsellors that he should make the effort, Eomer had never gave those requests much credence until he met Lothiriel of Dol Amroth.

From the instant she graced Meduseld with her presence, it felt to Eomer and to the rest of the Golden Hall’s inhabitants that the void left by Eowyn was finally filled. Meduseld had been without a lady of the house since Eowyn had ridden away to Pelennor Fields. Since then, Eowyn’s return had only been visits since her place was now in Ithilien at the right hand of her husband, the Steward. Eowyn would have returned with him and Lothiriel if it had not been for the declaration of war made by the Haradrim and the Easterling Confederacy. Indeed, Eomer had been ready to send Lothiriel home to Dol Amroth but the young woman had used her considerable effect on him to good advantage. Even her father, Imrahil seemed to encourage her decision to come with him, hoping that the time together would hasten their union.

Once arriving in Edoras, they had spent most days together. He taught her how to ride, a thing she had been unable to do well but was determined to learn since much of the Rohirrim’s world revolved around horses. They rode everyday together, often accompanied by others in order to ensure the lady’s reputation was not compromised in anyway. She learnt quickly and Eomer felt his heart fall prey to her just a little more every day. Eomer could tell that she loved being with him, especially because he accepted her for what she was, a fledgling sorceress whose powers had saved Middle-Earth from utter ruin during the terrible business with the skin changers.

At the time, he had been little concerned over the welfare of Rohan despite the declaration of war. Rohan was far from the borders of Gondor to be in any danger although Eomer had fully intended to support Aragorn in his campaign against any Easterling aggression. However, that had all changed when he received word that agents of the confederacy had approached a number of Dunlending tribes and might have possibly enlisted their aid in launching an attack upon Rohan.

After the battle of the Hornburg, the Dunlending forces had been thoroughly defeated by the Rohirrim, Ents and Huorns. Without the leadership of Saruman to unite them, the remaining Dunlending forces splintered, with individual tribes suing for their own peace. There were some who had begrudgingly accepted defeat but refuse to ally themselves with the Rohirrim as the other tribes had done. It was these few that gave Eomer his greatest concern because they would be able to facilitate an enemy force if it chose to attack Rohan. The tribes found their refuge in the Misty Mountains since the terrain was well known to them and were capable of remaining hidden indefinitely. They knew parts of the mountain range where horses could not travel and so they were relatively free to plot all manner of mischief.

As it was, Eomer had stationed his men along the River Isen, certain that if the rebel tribes were to gain help from their Easterling allies, there would be no other way for it to reach them other than through the river. The Rohirrim were also keeping watch upon the Gap of Rohan but the truth was, the Dunlendings were adept at not only fighting through means of open warfare but also by more insidious methods, employing covert tactics that were difficult to defend against. It was partially this reason that Eomer was reluctant to send Lothiriel beyond the safety of Edoras. However, as an excuse it was weak and it only served to convince him that he had to do what was sensible, not what was in his heart.

Eomer supposed it would make things considerably simpler if he simply married Lothiriel immediately and provide her with a legitimate reason to remain. However, his whole intention of bringing her to Edoras was so that he could get to know her and the business of spending an entire lifetime was nothing to take lightly. He did not want either of them to be rushed into such a choice because the times were perilous. He knew that she held some apprehension about being queen since her entire life had been devoted to a dream of becoming a true wizard. He did not doubt that she cared for him deeply but it was another thing entirely to become a queen, to be able to share the responsibility of a kingdom.

He had finally reached a decision and knew that she would not like it when he presented it to her. Following the latest discussion with his councillors, Eomer sought out Lothiriel, determined to do what was best for her, despite the feelings inside of him. It was late in the afternoon when he found her in one of the terraced gardens of Meduseld. It was not possible to have expansive gardens like those in Gondor when Edoras was built upon a hill. Many years ago, one of Rohan’s kings had carved out a section of it and set his engineers the task of building his lady, a native of Gondor, a small garden to remind her home. In subsequent years, it had been maintained by those who followed and was a favourite place for many who resided in the Golden Hall.

Since her arrival in Meduseld, Eomer knew that Lothiriel liked to sit upon the marble benches and read her books surrounded by the trees and flowering shrubs to be found within its confines. As a visitor without any defined role in the Golden Hall, Lothiriel found this place a suitable distraction for the times when Eomer had matters of state to attend. He supposed that within the garden, she felt less likely to be in anyone’s way.

"My lord," she said with a happy smile when he stepped into the garden. "How does this evening find you?"

Her smile immediately engendered one of his own and Eomer felt that same lift in his heart at the sight of her. She would be in his opinion, the most beautiful women he had ever seen. With glorious jets of dark hair and almost porcelain like beauty, he was sometimes almost afraid to touch her for fear that she would break. When she moved, it was like a dance of light, not like the clumsy movement of a warrior whose only grace seemed to come when he was astride a horse.

"I am well," he answered warmly as he sat beside her on the bench of polished marble. "I am sorry that I have been indisposed for most of the day. There are times when my responsibilities as king cannot be avoided."

"I understand," she replied meeting his gaze with sincere understanding. "I remember what it was like during our war with Sauron. I hardly saw my father during those days while you have made every effort to spend time with me despite the circumstances. I am grateful for that but you are king, and I understand that I must sometimes give you up to that title."

Eomer let out a heavy sigh and declared, "You do not make what I have to say any easier, my lady."

Lothiriel’s expression became dark with suspicion, "what is it you plan to say?"

Eomer took another deep breath and found that this was harder to do than fighting orcs and Uruk Hai. "I am sending some of my Rohirrim to Ithilien to bolster its defences. They will leave at dawn tomorrow. I have requested that they take you with them. They will be able to escort you to Minas Tirith and from there you should be afforded safe conduct to Dol Amroth."

Lothiriel’s eyes showed her hurt and it was like a knife in Eomer’s heart.

"You are sending me away?" She asked softly, her lips quivering with disappointment as she spoke.

"Only for a time," Eomer replied quickly. "There is a possibility rebel tribes from Dunland may aid an enemy incursion into Rohan. As unlikely as it may be, I would rather you away from Edoras should the violence penetrate this deep into our territory."

"I do not wish to go," Lothiriel stated at him, unable to believe that he would simply send her away like this. "I wish to remain here," she added further though she did not say that it was for him that she wanted to stay in the Golden Hall.y

"Believe me, I wish nothing more than you to stay at my side," Eomer aimed his penetrating gaze at her, "but I would not risk you life by allowing you to remain in Edoras."

Lothiriel turned away from him, trying to compose herself. She was hurt by his intention to send her home. After the last few weeks, she had thought that he understood how she felt for him. Ever since they had met, the King of the Mark had touched her heart deeply, in a manner she would have never believed possibly particularly since the idea of their union was initially forced upon Lothiriel by her father. The weeks they had spent together since her arrival in Edoras convincing Lothiriel that her heart had not led her astray in her regard for him.

"You take the choice away from me," she replied, unable to look at him because he would only see her tears if she did.

"Not because I wish to," Eomer declared, hearing the tremor in her voice. "Your family will need you at home at this time. It is not right that I should keep you here."

"My father has my brothers," Lothiriel faced him again. "He has little need of me except to keep me trapped at home. Here I can be of comfort to you and perhaps help in learning the ways of your house. You need me here Eomer, I know you do."

"I do need you and if we had the time to know each other more, you would see just how much but it is not proper that you remain under my roof. You are daughter of Dol Amroth and there has been no understanding between your father and I about your hand other than my awareness of his desire for a union between us."

Lothiriel stood up and glared at him in anger, "so like him, you would simply decide for me and have me sent away at your convenience?"

For weeks now, they have danced around each other, unable to deny this powerful attraction they had felt for each other. Following the events at the failed treaty in Minas Tirith, Lothiriel had confessed to Eomer that she was terrified for his life during those dark hours when he and the rest of the ruling council were lost to themselves. In that dire hour, she realised how she felt and it was that understanding of her emotions that saw her return with him to Edoras. However, the intensity of their growing affection for one another was a thing unspoken at this time. Why could he simply not admit how he felt? If he wanted to marry her, all he had to do was say. She had long since overcome the hurdle that their relationship was forced because her father had placed them together to begin with.

"You know that is not how it is," Eomer defended himself against the accusation. However, he could not deny that she had good reason to be upset. "As remote as the possibility is that the Dunlendings may attack Edoras, I cannot risk your life. You should return to your father’s house. I thought you would like to go home."

"Oh you fool!" She snapped in exasperation. "Do you not understand any single thing? I love you, you simpleton! Do you think that my desire to remain here is because I have an overt liking to the smell of horses?"

Eomer stared at her, rather astonished that she had said it out loud. "One gets accustomed to the smell of horses after a time," he muttered foolishly, mostly because he could think of nothing else to say even though the most obvious statement was the furthest thing from his mind at that moment.

"Did you hear me?" Lothiriel demanded, wondering if she had made a dreadful mistake in revealing her heart to soon.

"You really wish to remain?" He asked somewhat dazed.

"I wish to remain at your side," Lothiriel, starting to understand his hesitation more than he possibly knew. He was afraid. He was afraid of admitting how he felt. Knowing that, made Lothiriel’s course clearer.

Eomer wished Eowyn were here. If his sister were here, she would tell him what he should say instead of his standing here like a tongue tied boy after Lothiriel had made such a personal declaration. His experience with women of her pedigree was limited even though he was not unknown to women. The business of courtship was something he had never learnt because his youth was spent fighting Orcs and preparing to ride in the company of the Rohirrim. At twenty-two he had become the Third [Marshal](http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/m/marshalofthemark.html) of [Riddermark](http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/r/riddermark.html) and any dalliance with the opposite sex following that was fleeting. He know how he felt about her but he could not bring himself to say it because it would mean exposing too much of his heart. Eomer, who had spent too much time alone in his life, was not ready for such a thing.

Still, in the light of her revelation, he knew he could not send her back to her father.

"It could be dangerous," he replied.

"I know," she nodded and kissed him gently, an action that only made him even more unbalanced. Whether or not he knew it, Lothiriel somewhat enjoyed seeing him that way.

"I will send word to your father," Eomer responded.

"That I am staying here?" She asked.

"Yes," he nodded, uncertain at how he had been manoeuvred into this position when he had intended to send her away.

"Are you alright?" Lothiriel stared at him.

"Yes," he swallowed thickly and then blinked to clear his thoughts. He needed to tell her how he felt, he could not simply let her say what she had and not answer in return. Eomer was not so callous to do that and in truth, it needed to be said.

"You know that I feel the same as you, that I, well you know, I feel as much…" he started to ramble.

She placed her finger upon his lips and silenced him. "You do not have to say anything," she stared into his eyes. "I love you King of the Mark with all my heart. I do not wish to marry you tomorrow for there is too much happening at the moment for that. However, I would like to remain here and be what help to you I can. If by my presence alone, I can soothe your worries, please allow me the chance to do so. At home, I will be able to contribute nothing to the danger that is around us, but if I can help the people of Edoras by being at your side, then I beseech you to let me stay."

"You presence helps me and perhaps it is best that you remain here now that we have spoken our minds," Eomer answered; unable to believe how differently this encounter had turned out from how he originally thought.

"If we are to have any future together," Lothiriel said firmly, "I must remain at your side to aid in our present."

"You father will be thrilled," Eomer retorted.

* * *

 

It was already afternoon and Legolas Greenleaf knew that he was being rather decadent since he and his lady had yet to emerge from their bed chamber. Gazing out the window, the Lord of Eden Ardhon saw that morning was almost over as Laurelin’s fruit reached the climax of its journey across the sky. Beyond the walls of their chambers, he could hear the sound of elves going about their business as they continued the business of establishing the colony in South Ithilien. The place where Legolas had built their home stood upon a gentle hill that gave them a scenic view of the River Poros as well as the well as the forest that surrounded Eden Ardhon.

While it appeared that Middle-Earth was poised upon the knife’s edge of war, for the moment the conflict seemed very far away as Legolas and Melia enjoyed a lazy morning together. These days there was so much work to be done, what with the great hall that Legolas had commissioned Gimli to build as gathering place for the community and the continued work on the colony itself. There seemed hardly any time left over for them. However, Legolas who was always burdened with the knowledge that his life with Melia was finite, ensured that there were occasions when they simply had to make the time for each other even if it was meant taking a morning for themselves.

Legolas watched Melia sleep, basking in the loveliness of her as she dreamed about wonderful things, he hoped. If circumstance allowed it, he would spend every waking moment with her and forget the world outside completely because someday she would be gone and he would be alone. Legolas had accepted the tragedy of this when he gave his heart to Melia. Yet when he watched her like this and remembered that someday, the space she filled so warmly beside him would be empty, he could not help wanting to cherish every second with her.

In the end, the memories would be all he had left of her.

Melia was lying in the sheets next to him; oblivious to his ruminations. Legolas felt the familiar tingle of arousal as he took in the sight of her body, separated from his touch by a thin layer of silk. She was lying on her stomach, dark hair covering most of her face when Legolas nuzzled closer to her as another wave of desire took control of his baser desires. Legolas brushed aside her tousled dark hair, seeking through the strands of jet for the soft skin of her neck.

She pushed up against him in her sleep, not at all minding his weight on top of her as she slumbered. Letting out a pleasured sigh when Legolas found her neck, the elf smiled as he lowered his mouth and started teasing her skin her by tracing circles against it. She was still asleep but he could feel her body responding immediately to the gentle nips along the length of her neck before he sucked insistently in the curve where it met her shoulder.

She opened her eyes and met his with a gleam of mischief, sensing his intent and more than willing to submit to his tender caresses. Legolas raised his head and they smiled at each other like playful children before he lowered his lips to hers and captured her mouth in a kiss that was not at all innocent. As the intensity of it grew into fiery passion, they made love like lovers who had found each other after a long fast. Their passion was a tender thing of taste and touch, of scent and soft cries of pleasure. They knew each other well and they knew what each other liked. Their bodies moved together in perfect unison, much like their souls and when they could pleasure each other no more, both descended the cloud of sensation together.

When their physical thirst for one another was quenched, they lay in each other’s arm, savouring the pleasure of feeling each other’s heart beating against them. It was a moment of perfection, one Legolas would carry with him for the rest of his days and Melia, until the day she left him forever.

"We are being terribly decadent," Melia smiled, still glowing from their earlier passion.

"I know," Legolas answered, not at all repentant as he idled with a strand of her dark hair. "However, there is some advantage to being Lord of Eden Ardhon."

"I thought that meant you should lead by example," Melia stared at him with an arched brow.

"That would be true except that I am burdened with a wife who has an insatiable appetite for me," Legolas grinned.

"Insatiable?" Melia exclaimed at him in mock outrage. "I think you flatter yourself Prince."

"I do not need to flatter myself," he replied enjoying her reaction immensely. "It is clear to everyone that you hunger for me constantly. If only you knew how pitied I am among elves."

"Pitied!" Melia snatched her pillow from under her and swatted him with it. Legolas wrapped his arms around her waist before they wrestled briefly in a moment of complete foolishness that ended them with each of them laughing like children.

However, the moment was indeed brief for a sharp knock to the door of their chambers interrupted their play abruptly.

"Who is it?" Legolas asked, rather annoyed that they were being interrupted but realising a second later that no one would intrude upon them in this manner without good reason.

"It is Miriel my Lord," the familiar voice of the elven woman who had left Lorien to join the colony. "Forgive me for intruding upon you but Nunaur has returned and he brings grave news."

Legolas and Melia met each other’s gaze briefly and realised that their afternoon together was over. It was time to return to the world and all its troubles.

* * *

When Legolas and Melia arrived in the middle of the square that passed for the centre of Eden Ardhon, Gimli was already present. The dwarf had sent the elves to the town of Lebethron to collect the lumber needed for the great hall he was building. Nunaur and a handful of elves had set out a number of days ago and were not expected back so quickly since they would be making the return journey with wagons of lumber. That Nunuar and the others had returned home so swiftly engendered feelings of dread within the elven lord of Eden Ardhon.

"Nunaur, what has happened?" Legolas asked sternly, impatient to hear this grave news he had brought with their return.

The march warden whose attention was divided between his lord and one of the other elves who was cradling something wrapped in his cloak, did not answer immediately. Only when the elf Aloin stepped forward, carrying his precious cargo did Legolas understand the reason for Nunaur’s distraction.

"Sweet Eru," Legolas whispered as Aloin revealed the young girl wrapped in his cloak.

She was but seven years old if that, with a face smudged with dirt and with what every elf present was certain was blood. The child was trembling hard but it had nothing to do with cold. Her eyes were glazed and though she appeared to be staring, it was clear that she saw nothing.

"What happened to her?" Melia stepped forward immediately and bid Aloin to hand her the child. Sensing a feminine presence despite her catatonia, the child wrapped her arms around Melia and held fast, inspired by vague memories of the mother she had watched die not long ago.

"We found her," Nunaur turned his attention to Legolas finally, swallowing hard the bile that was rising from the pit of his stomach as he remembered what he had seen in that village, "in what remains of Lebethron."

"What remains?" Gimli exclaimed having travelled there for lumber when he was in the midst of constructing the gates for Aragorn’s city. It was a pleasant place he had always intended to visit again. "It is destroyed?"

"It is more than destroyed," Nunaur answered bitterly. "Someone had murdered every living thing in that village. We found the bodies of men, women and children, slaughtered. It was butchery! This child is all that is left of Lebethron. We searched everywhere and not one was left alive save this child. There were children run through my lord, children! The women were violated before their deaths and the men were strung up like carcasses!"

"Did she see all of this?" Melia asked in horror as she looked at the poor waif in her embrace. The child had curled her arms around the former Ranger’s neck, resting her head against Melia’s breast as if needing to feel the warm that only a woman could provide.

"I believe so," Alion nodded. "However, we cannot be certain."

"Why not?" Legolas looked at the child and felt his heartache for the horror she must have bore witness to. For a child that young, such trauma could cause permanent injury to her mind.

"She has not spoken a word since we found her," Nunaur explained. "She had climbed into the hollow of a tree and hidden there for most of the attack. She was still there when we arrived. If it were not for our elven hearing, it is likely we would not have found her at all."

"You’re safe now little one," Melia cooed softly in the girl’s ear, though she doubted the child could register a great deal in light of her ordeal. "We will let nothing harm you."

"My lord, there were mumakil tracks all around the village," Nunaur explained. "It was an Easterling attack."

"Why Lebethron of all places?" Gimli asked, still unable to believe that an entire town could be wiped away so callously. "They were fisherman and tree farmers! It held nothing of value except lumber and the Easterlings could not be so hungry for that it was necessary to murder so many innocents?"

"Are you certain that it was the Easterlings?" Legolas asked once more. "Perhaps it was Orcs or Uruk Hai. Easterlings do attack with such brutality but they seldom take the lives of women and children. Women are valuable to them as commodities and children are incapable of offering any sort of threat."

"It  _was_  the Easterlings," Nunaur stated with more certainty that Legolas liked. "Every building was trampled into the dirt by mumakils. The beasts charged the village and ran down anyone in their path. Spears and arrows impaled those villagers who were not killed in the stampede. The design of the weapons we recovered are clearly of Easterling origin. There can be no doubt of it. They did not even remain long enough to take anything of value."

Legolas had a good idea what the destruction of Lebethron was meant to signify though it disgusted him to admit it.

"We must get word to Gondor that they have finally begun their campaign," Legolas said grimly, dreading to think how Aragorn would take the news of the slaughter. "Clearly this was a message of some sort since I can see no other reason why they would launch an attack on a village with so little importance strategically."

Nunaur and Alion exchanged a look which Legolas caught almost immediately. "What is it?"

Nunaur’s gaze dropped and Legolas saw the rush of blood to the elf’s face that indicated the extent of his outrage. From within his cloak, he produced a rolled parchment and handed it to Legolas who took it gingerly.

"You are correct of it being a message but it is not a message to Gondor," Nunaur answered after a moment. "We found this pinned to one of the bodies that were strung up."

Legolas unrolled the parchment and read the words scrawled in blood across the paper. His jaw tensed and Melia saw the heat of a thousand suns burning in his eyes as he read its contents. His knuckles became white as he clutched the paper and she knew that it was quite possible that she had never seen him so angry before. When he lowered the parchment a moment later, Melia saw his hands were shaking with fury.

"What does it say?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"Nunaur speaks the truth, it is not a message for Gondor," Legolas met her gaze and that of Gimli’s in quick succession. "It is a message for us, specifically for me."

"And?" Gimli demanded, unable to stand the suspense when his friend appeared ready to scream in rage.

"It says," Legolas spoke with a voice of stone, "do not meddle in the affairs of men lest the we wish the fate of Lebethron to be the fate of Eden Ardhon."


	3. Neutrality

When Legolas and Gimli reached Lebethron, little had occurred to alter Nunaur’s description of tragedy at what had befallen the village. 

Indeed, Nunaur’s description of the terrible destruction wrought upon Lebethron seemed to pale in comparison with the reality that they were forced to witness as they rode into the town. Even as they neared the outskirts of the Lebethron, party of travellers could smell the stench of bodies that covered the land like uncovered graves. Once they entered Lebethron, the stench of bodies had given way to the overwhelming silence whose potency was almost as acute as the former. It was not to say that there was no sound at all, for they could still hear the noises of the forest from which Lebethron had relied upon for much of its commerce. Birds and insects chirped in complete obliviousness to the dark events through the rustling leaves of trees that would not know another harvest for many years. 

The horses as they took the path into the village reared their heads in protest as the scent of the dead made them instinctually wary of venturing further. The elves soothed their steeds’ anxiety but could do little to suppress their own horror as they saw for themselves the extent of the destruction. Nunaur’s description of butchery was not exaggerated. The elves, which had lived long and had seen much of ugliness in both human and other races, were moved to shock at what they were confronted with as they entered the village. 

Gimli had travelled to Lebethron once before and he remembered the village as being a warm place, peopled with folk that were hard working, honest and kind. They had been so proud that the lumber for which they were so noted would be used in the fortifications for the White City. Gimli remembered sharing draught with one of the village elders, a carpenter named Selywn, an agreeable man whom Gimli had looked forward to meeting again. As his eyes swept over the dead bodies, some trampled beyond recognition, Gimli knew that it was highly likely that one of them belonged to Selwyn. Gimli forced the thought away because he knew it would only unleash the full vent of his sorrow and he had no wish to appear so vulnerable in the company of elves, even if one was a trusted friend. 

Still, it was difficult to remain untouched by what they were seeing before them. There was no way that they could compare what they were seeing with any previous acts of aggression by the enemy. During the War of the Ring, the Southrons and the Easterlings had attacked Gondor with a vengeance, spurred on by Sauron’s powers and the promise that Isildur’s Bane would make them invincible. Villages were attacked with savagery but none had been subjected to the brutality that was inflicted upon Lebethron on this occasion. Women and children were left alive, brutalised no doubt, but not murdered in wholesale slaughter. The Easterlings had wanted their enemies to fear them and such fear was best conveyed in the frightened tales of survivors. However, such was not the case here. 

Buildings that were once homes, community gathering places such as inns and meeting halls, lay on the ground, mounds of broken wood crushed underfoot by the fearsome mumakils ridden by the enemy. It was as if the whole of Lebethron was flattened under the weight of a giant hand, smashing them into the dirt. Fences of stone and wood added themselves to the piles of debris scattered throughout the village. Gardens were trampled into mud, shrubs and bushes crushed into the earth. Flower petals sprayed across the destroyed gardens and anything of beauty that might have captured the eye was ruined for the purpose of the lesson the enemy was attempting to teach them. 

Yet none of this was as disturbing as the bodies. 

Legolas and Gimli who had travelled through Moria and seen the death of Moria’s dwarf population, tried not to be affected by the carnage but it was impossible. Among the dead were children, their throats cut open in a clean, slash across their necks. Their clothes were soiled with blood and despite the violence of their ending, their faces looked innocent,as innocent as the face of a murdered child could be. It did not matter that some were infants or barely able to walk, their lives were taken just the same. Once finished with, they were left to die, their blood soaking into the dusty ground. 

The women were killed in similar fashion, the ones who were not raped first. Legolas’ jaw tightened when he saw that many of the women were unclothed and the terrible marks on their body left no doubt as to their fates. A surge of fury rose up within him because to an elf, there was no greater crime than this brutal violation of the body. If such things could be measured, the crime was held in worse regard than even that of murder. Elves did not look kindly upon those who engaged such barbaric acts and even more so if it were one of their own that committed it. 

The men were killed outright. If there was any consolation to be had, they were spared the ordeal of their women. However, in death, their bodies had been no less violated. Nunaur was right; some of the bodies were strung up in a stomach turning display of savagery. Like meat hanging in a butcher’s shop, a dozen or so men were suspended from a large tree in the centre of the village. Carrion birds were beginning to feed upon them and scene was so grisly that Legolas was certain he heard someone in their party, retch in disgust. It was clear that they had been killed before they were hung in such a manner and once again, Legolas was struck by the memory that this was a warning to him, not to allow the elves to become involved in the conflict that would soon plunge Middle earth into war. 

"Cut them down," Legolas said to no one in particular when he finally turned away, unable to look any more. 

Nunaur who had insisted on returning with his lord once he had rested, stepped forward grimly, glad that he was finally able to do what he had wished to when they had first come upon Lebethron. He had wanted to give the poor unfortunates a proper burial but without any knowledge of whether or not the enemy would return and with the discovery of the child, the march warden had felt it best that they depart immediately, leaving Lebethron’s folk in the manner he had discovered them. This has preyed heavily upon the mind of Eden Ardhon’s march warden and though Legolas had asked him to remain home, the elf had beseeched his lord to allow him to accompany Legolas on this journey. 

"They deserve death for this!" Gimli exploded, unable to rein in his fury much longer. 

"They deserve that and more," Legolas nodded in agreement. He was glad that Melia had chosen to remain for he did not know how she would take seeing the full extent of her people’s savagery. It was one thing to hear of it but to see it in such gruesome detail was something else entirely and he wished her spared of the ordeal. 

"What do you plan to do?" Gimli asked as Nunaur and those under his command undertook the task Legolas had set them. 

"I do not know," Legolas answered truthfully. The question Gimli was asking was one he had been debating with since they had set out from Eden Ardhon. He wished Aragorn were here because he needed the counsel of the king before he could make this decision. Prior to leaving Eden Ardhon, he had sent word to Ithilien, aware that Aragorn would already have left Gondor bound for Ithilien. They had mistakenly believed that the first attack upon the lands of the Westernesse would take place at Ithilien. Certainly, Lebethron had never even crossed their minds as a possible target of the Easterlings first strike.

 

"They did this to warn you!" Gimli retorted, his fury spurring him to speak with heated emotions. "You cannot simply do nothing!" 

Legolas turned around sharply and stared at Gimli, "do you think I wish to remain behind while my friends go to war? I would ride by Aragorn, Faramir and Eomer into fire if I were given the choice, but Aragorn himself told me this was a matter for men, not elves! He believes that I would imperil Eden Ardhon unnecessarily if the elves were to cast our lot with men. Already, there are many tribes of Easterling and Southrons gathered against the Reunified Kingdom but some linger, unwilling to engage in another war. If those nations, for one moment, thought the elves would fight for Gondor, there is no telling how they would react to such news. Those who may not wish to fight might be incited to by their hatred of us!" 

"They would not dare attack you!" Gimli returned just as sharply. 

"Why would they not?" Legolas countered. "Our presence in Middle earth is nowhere what it used to be. Even though Eryn Lasgalen, Imladris and East Lorien are still occupied, it is no secret that our numbers are dwindling. If we were to involve ourselves in this conflict, it might worsen the situation." 

"Or it might end it decisively," the dwarf retaliated with just as much passion. "Aragorn worries that Eden Ardhon lies too far beyond Gondor and Ithilien’s reach to protect your city should you become embroiled in the war but while you fear that the Easterlings may gain more support for their campaign by the involvement of the elves, has it not occurred to you that they might also be deterred by it?" 

"It is not that simple," Legolas took a deep breath and released it as he gazed upon the dwarf. No one this earth could vex him as much as the son of Gloin. Legolas was certain that half the reason he loved Melia so much was because her gruff, practical manner reminded her a little of the dwarf, certainly they both delighted in driving him mad. 

"My father has no wish to embroil himself in the affairs of men," Legolas confessed. "He would not help even if he were asked." 

At their last meeting, Thranduil had spoken most empathically on how he felt about the notion of war and involving himself in Gondor’s politics. Prior to the treaty ceremony that should have sealed the alliance of the Reunified Kingdom and the Easterling Confederacy, Legolas had invited Thranduil to come to Minas Tirith to participate. The King of Mirkwood had said quite firmly that he had no desire to deal with the politics of men and wished only to be left alone. While Celeborn had not been quite so lacking in diplomacy, the lord of East Lorien had echoed the same sentiments and while Legolas had no doubt that Elladan and Elrohir would pledge Imladris’ support behind Aragorn if required, Imladris was a long way from the front lines. 

"He is your father," Gimli pointed out. "If you were in danger, there is no doubt in my mind he would aid you." 

"I know that as well," Legolas retorted, having already thought of this argument long before Gimli had made mention it. "So do I ignore the words of Aragorn and force Eden Ardhon’s support upon the king, possibly inciting the neutral Easterling tribes into action, placing Eden Ardhon into peril and thus giving no choice but to force the other elven nations to end their neutrality or do I follow Aragorn’s advice and let them sort it out for themselves, as they should?" 

Gimli frowned unhappily, seeing why Legolas was so conflicted and not envying the decision the elf was required to make. "I see your point." 

"Thank you," Legolas replied even though he knew that doubts remained still in Gimli’s mind for it certainly remained in his own. "While we wait for Aragorn to arrive, we will do the only thing that is left to be done for Lebethron and that is to give its folk a proper burial." 

Gimli could not disagree with Legolas’ suggestion despite his wish to exact a more telling course of action, particularly upon the Easterlings who had undertaken this cruel revenge upon the people of Lebethron. Gimli thought of Selwyn, his family and the community that the carpenter had lived all his life and knew that for him, neutrality was a foul word. If he could inspire his brethren to rise up against the Easterlings, he would do so gladly but he knew dwarfs even better than elves. Gimli could venture a guess at their answer if he should attempt anything as ill advised as putting forward a request for the dwarfs to assist the men of Gondor in their battles. How could he rebuke the elves for choosing to remain unaligned in this matter when the dwarf community was no better?

 "It is a good thing that your lady chose to remain at Eden Ardhon," Gimli replied, deciding that the best course of action was to change the subject.

 "Yes," Legolas nodded with complete agreement. "I think she feels rather responsible because she is an Easterling herself."

 "A foolish notion," Gimli muttered as he and Legolas moved deeper into the ruined village. "She has not been an Easterling for many years."

 "It does not change the fact that many will still see her as one. She was no better received when we first arrived at East Lorien together. Being my wife does not change the fact that she is from a race Middle earth now consider an enemy."

 Legolas was actually rather grateful that Melia had chosen to remain at home to tend to the young child who was the only survivor of this massacre. He did not wish to tell her that her presence might create further complications if they were to encounter the Easterlings who carried out this atrocity. Sauron had bred the races under his command with a natural disdain for the elves, Legolas could not even begin to imagine what they would think of a woman of their own blood, who had not only rejected their ways but had also taken an Eldar as husband. The outrage of it, especially to an Easterling, would be extreme and Legolas was relieved that Melia was at home, beyond harm’s reach.

 "I think you underestimate your reputation," Gimli retorted. "You are beloved even among men, I doubt that anyone would see Melia as less when you have chosen her as your wife."

 "As much as I regard them, the hearts of men are easily swayed by fear and this are fearful times. I believe the safest place for Melia is at home," Legolas answered.

 "Perhaps you are right," Gimli could not disagree with the elf’s desire for his lady’s safety. Gimli himself was rather grateful that his own wife, Lorin, preferred to remain at their home in Aglarond far away from the business of war. "However, it is my experience that the lady does not need protecting. If anything, she is quite capable of looking after herself."

 Legolas turned to Gimli and remarked, "in my experience, no one is completely invulnerable, particularly those who think they can look after themselves."

 Gimli did not know how to answer and decided that perhaps silence was best for now. With the grisly work ahead of them, it was rather appropriate.

* * *

 

When the news reached him from Eden Ardhon, Aragorn did not know if he was more furious at the Easterlings or himself for not being able to guess where they would strike first in this war. All this time, they had been certain that Ithilien would be the first place the enemy would chose to launch their campaign against the Reunified Kingdom, Lebethron was never ever considered. Why should it? The King of Gondor asked himself as he and Faramir rode to Lebethron soon after Legolas’ message had been delivered.

Lebethron had no value as a military target. They had anticipated the Easterling army would take the Harad Road with the Mountains of Shadow flanking their journey northward. It was for this reason that Aragorn had asked for Legolas’ neutrality in the conflict. The king knew that Eden Ardhon would be within reach of any Easterling army choosing to journey this path towards the territories of the Reunified Kingdom and if Legolas threw his support behind Gondor, there was no reason why the enemy would not strike in retaliation. While the enemy would prefer to avoid an elven interest in what was largely a human war, Aragorn could not be certain that their spite would be restrained by reason 

Despite the destruction of Lebethron, there was a much larger issue that had raised considerable concern throughout the ranks of the Gondorian and Ithilien army and that was the realisation that the enemy was not where they thought they would be. It appeared that the Confederacy had not travelled up the Harad Road and since they could not possibly have a fleet large enough to mount a naval invasion after Pelargir, Aragorn concluded that they only way they could advance was through the mountains of Ephel Dúath. The thought that they might use the mountains as their crossing left Aragorn deeply unsettled for there were too many places where the enemy might enter the territory of the Reunified Kingdom unseen. 

Upon learning of the attack upon Lebethron, Aragorn had sent word to all his Rangers to keep watch for the mountains because if the Easterlings were capable of wreaking such destruction upon the village without anyone suspecting their arrival, then no one was safe. Aragorn was deeply concerned that their intelligence was unable to determine exactly which path the enemy was taking to reach the western lands. The king suspected that the army he had amassed at Ithilien was now awaiting a battle that would take elsewhere and that concerned the king greatly. 

With the exception of Eden Ardhon and Emyn Arnen at Ithilien, there were no great cities flanking the mountains of Ephel Dúath, which lead to the conclusion that the Easterlings may be intending to attack villages in a bid for territory and supplies, as it had done to Lebethron. The thought of the enemy besieging folk who had know ability to wage war against an army of that measure of brutality, filled the king with anger and made him more determined to find the enemy at all costs. 

"You think I should have remained in Ithilien," Aragorn remarked as he and Faramir journeyed to Lebethron. 

"I do," Faramir glanced briefly at his king before his eyes faced the road once again. "However, I understand your desire to go." 

Faramir had wanted Aragorn to remain in Ithilien because the news of Lebethron’s destruction indicated that they were at a disadvantage at not knowing the whereabouts of the Easterling army. It would be unwise for the king to be unprotected at such a time. However, nothing that Faramir could say would deter the king from his intended course. In the end, the Prince of Ithilien had to be satisfied with Aragorn making the journey dressed in the fashion he had when he was still the Dunedain. In fact, both men discarded their clothes for the garb they had worn when they were both still Rangers. The effect once they were ready, was more than capable of promoting the illusion that they were simple travellers and not the two most important men in the Reunified Kingdom. 

Despite his disagreement with Aragorn making the journey, he could appreciate why the king would want to go personally to Lebethron. Faramir felt the same outrage and the Prince could not begin to imagine what was in the king’s mind as they took the road to their rendezvous with Legolas and Gimli. 

"I must see Legolas," Aragorn declared surprising Faramir with his answer a little. 

"Why?" Faramir stared at him. 

"I know him," Aragorn frowned as he thought of the message he had received from the Lord of Eden Ardhon. "What happened at Lebethron will only enflame his desire to put the weight of Eden Ardhon behind our cause. Legolas is not one to succumb to coercion and though the Easterlings may be foolish enough to assume that the massacre at Lebethron would serve to deter Eden Ardhon’s involvement, I can tell you now that it will not. If anything, it would provoke Legolas’ self righteous fury into doing the exact opposite of what they intend."

He was right, Faramir realised. Although he did not know Legolas as long as Aragorn, he had come to know the elf well since the War of the Ring and their subsequent establishment as masters of Ithilien. After Legolas had began building his colony in Eden Ardhon, Faramir had often visited the fledgling community to see how the elves fared in the southern provinces of Ithilien and counted the elf as one of his dearest friends. Faramir often thought that he and Legolas were a great deal alike in their disposition, bound by loyalty and friendship to the king, perfectly willing to ride at his side into any calamity but also willing to take charge when the situation required. 

Faramir was perfectly aware of the stubborn streak possessed by the elf after numerous adventures together. Legolas would not take too kindly to coercion and Faramir began to understand that Aragorn’s fierce desire to reach Lebethron was not because he wanted to see for himself the carnage that had taken place, but to ensure that Legolas did not do anything that would irrevocably commit his people to war.

"He does not know where they are," Faramir remarked, trying to assuage Aragorn’s anxiety.

Unfortunately the king would hear none of it and retorted promptly, "let me tell you something about elves, Faramir. If you should ever become the obsession of one, there is no place on this earth you could hide where he would not find you. For Legolas, this is equally so. He has spent that the last three millennia hunting and killing every dark thing that lived in Mirkwood as a pastime. When I first met him, he was hunting spiders for the lack of anything better to do, Trust me, if he sets his mind to finding the Easterlings who committed the massacre of Lebethron, I do not doubt he will find them." 

For a long moment, Faramir did not speak as they rode through the wooded track towards Lebethron. The sun had disappeared past the mountains of Ephel Dúath and the blanket of night made them seem sinister instead of benign. When Sauron still ruled, the mountains felt like an extension of the dark lord’s evil that seemed to creep towards Gondor and the other kingdoms of Middle earth. Even now, long after Sauron’s presence was driven from the world completely, they still appeared like dark behemoths, inching closer to stake a claim on what their master was unable to conquer. 

"Perhaps we should let Legolas find them Aragorn," Faramir spoke finally, unleashing the thoughts that had been building up inside his head during the long pause. 

"What do you mean?" Aragorn stared at the Prince. 

"If the destruction of Lebethron is as terribly as we fear, with every man, woman and child brutally murdered, why should we kerb Legolas’ outrage? My own is no less than his and I share his disgust at what has happened. Those people deserve justice," Faramir retorted. "If Legolas is capable of tracking those who were responsible for the murder of those innocents, should we stop him?" 

Aragorn drew in a deep breath and turned his gaze away from Faramir as he sought the words to answer. It was a good minute before he was able to respond. 

"Faramir, I am no less angry at what has happened to Lebethron then you or Legolas," Aragorn declared meeting Faramir’s gaze as he began speaking, "you are right, the folk whose lives were taken so unjustly should be avenged and if it were my choice, I would hunt them down by Legolas side and make every last one of them pay for each life that was taken but I cannot. I cannot make such a choice because I am king and as king, my thoughts cannot simply be about vengeance or justice, it must be about the kingdom." 

"I know," Faramir replied, having heard the argument before, though not as passionately stated. 

However, Aragorn was far from finished with his declaration and continued to speak, his voice showing how deeply he was affected by what had happened and how difficult it was to do nothing when so many had lost their lives. 

"As much as I would have Legolas as my ally in this war, Eden Ardhon sits too far away from Gondor or Ithilien to be defended with any kind of effectiveness. It is vulnerable to attack by the Haradrim and from any number of Easterling tribes. He is my friend and I love him dearly but he is not Elrond who was capable of protecting Imladris from Sauron using the power of the Ford of Bruinen. Everything we fear about the elves would only take place if Eden Ardhon were destroyed and I cherish Legolas and his colony too much to gamble with its existence in such a manner." 

It was true, Faramir admitted begrudgingly. The elves would either become involved in the war or be incited into leaving Middle earth forever if Eden Ardhon were destroyed. With the enemy keeping its movements through their territory a secret, it was difficult to deploy their own armies with any certainty and until that changed, Faramir could understand Aragorn’s need for caution. 

"You are right of course," Faramir shrugged in reluctant agreement. "However, I for one would like to see them pay for what they did." 

"They will," Aragorn returned with a voice so cold that it send shudders through Faramir’s skin. "They will pay for it when we meet in battle. I thought to make peace with them but the destruction of Lebethron has hardened my heart. If it is war they want, it is war they will have." 

* * *

For Melia, the destruction of Lebethron was embodied in its entirety in the face of the young child she had taken into her home.

 The child had become Melia’s responsibility since her arrival in Eden Ardhon and the former Ranger took on the role of surrogate mother like a she-wolf protecting her young cub. It was difficult not to feel disposed in such a manner towards the child when Melia had only to look upon the despairing face of the little girl to feel this relentless need to protect her. As it was, the lady of Eden Ardhon was wholly outraged by Lebethron’s fate and worse yet, by what the child must have surely witnessed. There was no doubt in Melia’s mind that the girl had seen the attack in all its savagery. There could be no other explanation as to why she had retreated so completely into a well of grief. 

For the first day, the child would do nothing but cling to her. Even when she set the child down from her arms, the girl gripped her hand and followed her almost everywhere. However, what was most disconcerting was her silence. She did not speak and had no wish to despite Melia’s best efforts to coax a name from her. In the end, the Ranger decided that the child would speak when she was ready and she was clearly not ready as of yet. 

The elves however, were fascinated by the child and showed her kindness but the girl was still too afraid to know what to make of them. They understood that she had suffered a terrible ordeal and thus kept their distance though for many of them, seeing a child was a rare experience. There were no children at Eden Ardhon mostly because elves preferred to parent early on in their lives and most had already done so prior to arriving at the colony. Melia and Legolas had never truly spoken about children even though Melia knew she wanted to be a mother some day. The girl’s presence in her life seemed to convince Melia that she would be a good mother. She knew elves could control when they conceived a child and was rather comforted by the fact that a child born to Legolas and her could make the choice of living a mortal or an immortal life. 

Melia made up her mind to speak to Legolas about this when he returned home from Lebethron. While she remained cloistered away with duties of her own as the Lady of Eden Ardhon, Melia could not deny wishing that she were able to join him. More and more, she felt the threat of war pulling at the part of her that was once a Ranger and the need to do something more than being the good wife at home seemed sometimes overwhelming. 

During the War of the Ring, she had aided in some of the battles that had been wrought throughout Middle earth, particularly in Angmar where she had aided the Dunedain and the local militia in driving out Sauron’s forces. While not in the thick of the greater battles of the war, Melia had nonetheless been blooded. It was her service during the war that had led to her becoming one of the new Rangers that Aragorn wished to roam the wilds as he one had, gathering intelligence on the state of his kingdom and the lands surrounding it. 

She was a Ranger and it appeared now more than ever, Rangers were desperately needed. The irony of it was that she was the most qualified to infiltrate the Easterling ranks because she could easily pass for one of them. In her travelling clothes, it was easy to become mistaken for a man since no male of the Haradrim or the Easterling Confederacy would ever think it possibly that a woman was capable of passing herself as a man without their noticing it. Unfortunately, she would never know for certain because her duties as wife of the Lord of Eden Ardhon required her to wage a different kind of battle. Despite Legolas’ decision to heed Aragorn’s plea for Eden Ardhon to maintain its neutrality, Melia felt her loyalties divided. She did not wish any harm to befall her husband’s race but she also felt compelled to defend the people whom she considered her own against the ones who actually were. 

How could she feel any differently when she was confronted with what had happened to the little girl whose life was suddenly her responsibility? 

Melia pondered these things as she sat in the parlour of the home she and Legolas were building for themselves since their marriage. It was by no means palatial as was befitting a former Prince of Mirkwood but rather comfortable in Melia’s opinion. Eden Ardhon was built beneath the canopy of trees in the great forests of South Ithilien and the elves had established their colony so that it would be a part of the wood not intruders upon it. In keeping with this tradition, the homes built within Eden Ardhon were built with the needs of its individual resident. 

The home that Melia and Legolas occupied was the largest in Eden Ardhon mostly because he was its lord. When completed, it would be large enough to entertain royal guests however it would not be so grand that any of the wood would be sacrificed for its construction. Legolas was after all, a woodland elf. He cherished the forests and would do no harm to it. His desire was to build a place not unlike that of Lothlorien. Melia had never seen the city of the Golden Wood but she had heard the stories of the realm occupied once by lord Celeborn and the legendary Lady Galadriel. She knew that if Eden Ardhon could achieve even the least bit of resemblance to Lothlorien then it would be a blessing indeed. 

Melia sat at the table with her crossbow, her hands moving deftly over the smooth wood end to ensure the weapon was in good working order. She kept a vigil in maintaining it even though she did not use it as often as she would like. During her time as a Ranger of Angmar, the weapon had been her constant ally as was her horse Lomelindi. The mare spent most of her time grazing these days although Melia rode it often enough, she sometimes craved for the wilds that had been her home for so many years. Melia made herself a promise to ask of the King and Lord Faramir, how they dealt with such feelings. After all, they were once Rangers themselves. If any being could feel empathy with her situation, it was those two men. 

Melia was so deep in thought that upon looking up, she saw the girl staring at her with wide-eyed terror. In particular, the crossbow that Melia was tending to with such reverence. Her gaze shifted swiftly from the weapon to Melia in a heartbeat and the expression of horror on her face melted into disbelief and betrayal. Melia could not fathom the loathing in her eyes and stood up abruptly to approach the child. However, the only survivor of Lebethron had no intention of allowing Melia to touch her and upon seeing the lady’s approach, promptly bolted away like a frightened animal. 

For an instant, Melia was at a loss to explain her behaviour until she came to the realisation that what she was been holding in her hand was an Easterling weapon, a weapon the child would no doubt have seen slaughter the inhabitants of her village and possibly her parents as well. Melia cursed under her breath at her own foolishness and immediately gave chase. As she hurried down the hall, Melia heard the distant sound of door slamming hard. She followed the fading noise until she arrived at the main door and descended the steps into the walkway beyond the house. 

Melia’s eyes scanned the trees and saw no sign of the child. The little girl was small and capable of hiding very well it seemed. The only people Melia could see where the elves going about their daily business with the building of the colony. Miriel and Vienne, two elven ladies from East Lorien were walking towards the river and paused when they caught sight of Melia. Since becoming wife to their lord, Melia had come to know many of the women who resided in Eden Ardhon. While some still regarded her with strained tolerance since she had never been forgiven for the audacity of being human and ensnaring the heart of their prince, they were others like Miriel and Vienne who were willing to accept her because Legolas loved her. 

Miriel and Melia had struck something of a friendship during Melia’s first visit to Lorien with Legolas. Though she looked Melia’s age, Miriel was almost two thousand years old and had been one of Galadriel’s attendants. During the brief interlude when the Fellowship had entered Lothlorien following the death of Gandalf the Grey, Miriel had assisted Galadriel in the ceremony where Legolas and the fellowship had been presented with the gifts for their journey. Vienne was a woodland elf. She had lived in the court of Thranduil for most of her life, which was to say, at least a number of centuries. Vienne, who had long red hair like a wave of russet, had journey to Eden Ardhon so that she could remain at the side of her beloved Nunuar. 

"My lady, are you looking for the little one?" Miriel asked, venturing a guess that the concern on Melia’s face was due to the scene she and Vienne had witnessed but a moment ago. 

"Yes!" Melia nodded, "have you seen her?" 

"She was running towards the river," Vienne replied quickly, sensing Melia’s agitation. "What has happened?" 

"I am a fool!" Melia exclaimed without hesitation. "I was tending to my crossbow when she saw me." 

"That is hardly a grievous sin my lady," Miriel stared at her in puzzlement. 

"It is an Easterling weapon," Melia said hurrying towards the river with Miriel and Vienne keeping pace with her. "I cannot imagine what the child must be thinking after seeing her entire village decimated by Easterlings who no doubt carried a weapon very much like my crossbow. She looked at me with such betrayal, as if I had some part in Lebethron’s destruction." 

"I am certain that is untrue," Miriel said gently. "She was just startled, that is all." 

"I should have known better," Melia declared not about to exonerate her actions. "What was I thinking acting so foolishly?" 

"Melia, it is not your fault," Vienne spoke with just as much compassion. "You could not know how she would react." 

However, Melia could not be convinced that she had not acted foolishly. They arrive at the waters of the River Porous and swept their gaze over the breathtaking vista. Melia searched the trees and hoped that the child had not done anything so foolish like trying to cross the river. She was so little that the thought of her making such an attempt struck cold fear into Melia’s heart. Fortunately, her elvish companions had far greater senses that she could ever imagine and she felt Miriel tap her on the shoulder and gesture to a large piece of log lying near the banks of the river. 

Melia glanced at it in question before catching sight of a sliver of colour from fabric lodged in the hollow of the fallen tree. She gave Miriel a grateful smile and bade the elven ladies to remain where they were as she approached the young girl’s hiding place. Melia considered what she would say to the child and knew that the girl probably felt that Melia had betrayed her trust somewhat. There was only one way that Melia could think of regaining it and that was using the only weapon that could destroy deception in any form, the truth. 

"I know you are there," Melia announced herself as she approached the log stealthily and saw that the child was indeed hidden inside its hollows. 

The girl did not respond except as to press herself more deeply into her hiding place. 

Melia swallowed deeply but knew she had to keep trying to reach her. 

"I am an Easterling," Melia confessed first and foremost in her ordeal of truth, "I was born in the same place as the people who hurt your family and your home. I make no excuse for it except to say that I am not like them. I would never hurt innocents the way you and your family were harmed. I came here a long time ago from the east because I wanted another life, one where I could be what I was without having to fear. I know you think that because I carry the same weapon as they do, I am one of them. I do not blame you for being frightened. You have right to be angry and afraid for what they did to you but I am not them and I don’t want to hurt you. I only want to help you." 

The child did not speak and Melia’s felt a knife slicing her heart with the silence that followed her impassioned plea. She did not wish to be despised by the little waif she had come to care for since Aloin had folded back his cloak and revealed her to Melia. However, if the child was this afraid of her because of her Easterling origins, Melia would not force the girl to remain with her. If she cared for the child, Melia would have to let her go. 

"You do not have to stay with me any more, I understand if you want to be somewhere else. There are any number of elves in Eden Ardhon that would love to have you in their company. This place is like that, we care about each other and if it makes you feel better to be somewhere else, I will see that it happens little one." 

"Anna." A soft voice escaped the log into the air. 

Melia blinked. "Is that your name?" 

The child rose from her hiding place before staring at Melia, eyes filled with tears as she nodded slowly, "papa said he named me after Yavanna, the lady who planted the seed so it could grow into the sun but everyone calls me Anna." 

"Anna," Melia smiled warmly, relief swelling her heart at Anna’s first words. "It is a pretty name. My mother named me after a lady as well, only her name was Melian. I guess both our names are borrowed a little." 

"I hid when they came," she said dropping her gaze to the dirt at Melia’s feet. "I heard them making the ground shake and I got scared so I hid." 

"It probably saved your life," Melia commented, coming closer towards her. 

"No," she shook her head. "Papa and mama couldn’t find me. They were looking for me instead of running away. They should have run away!" 

Melia swept the girl into her arms as Anna began to weep. 

"Hush," she cooed softly in the child’s ear, not needing to hear anymore because it was clear what had taken place without Anna needing to explain. Her parents were probably killed in front of her because they were frantically searching for their missing daughter, thinking nothing of their own safety when their child’s was in doubt. It was what any parent would do and for that, they were killed mercilessly in front of the daughter they had been trying to save. 

"You are safe here Anna," Melia whispered softly as she cradled the girl in her embrace. "I promise you, I will let nothing harm you here. In Eden Ardhon, we are safe from the men who hurt your parents. You are safe." 

However even as Melia said it, she knew that it was a dangerous promise to make. 

* * *

He did not know how much longer he could maintain his strength.

The man had been on foot for several days now, moving swiftly over the terrain at such speed that he knew it was more than dangerous. He was no fledgling lost in the wood but a Ranger who patrolled the lands of Lebenin. A chance journey down the River Sirith had led to an unexpected encounter and now he had to reach Eden Ardhon at all costs. He would have made his way towards Minas Tirith but that path was barred to him and to escape with what he knew, he was forced to take another route. He prayed that he had maintained his anonymity, that they had not seen him bear witness to what they intended. 

His best hope was to reach the elven colony of Eden Ardhon and enlist the aid of its lord in sending a message to Emyn Arnen, informing the Steward of what he had discovered. The elves had horses and were capable of closing the distance between themselves and Emyn Arnen in enough time to issue the grave intelligence he had unwittingly acquired on the banks of the Sirith River. Even now, he had trouble believing what he had seen even though the truth of it froze his heart within his chest. The Rangers had been anticipating trouble since the declaration of war by the Easterling Confederacy had been made but not even they had realised how swiftly the enemy was capable of mobilizing or how much they truly hated the people of the Reunified Kingdom. 

At first, he was uncertain of what he had seen. A flotilla of strange ships bearing no resemblance to anything he had seen before made its way down the Sirith in the dead of night. The Sirith was nowhere as wide or deep as the Anduin so a fleet as the one that had attempted to besiege Pelargir was incapable of journeying its waters. However, the vessels he spied were not ocean going vessels nor where they comprised of numerous decks that would require a deep harbour. If he were forced to describe them, he would call them raft like, using sails and many oarsmen to navigate the waters. 

He followed them for most of the night and learnt that they were moving swiftly up river, towards the White Mountains. He was puzzled at their destination for the fiefdoms of Lebenin were small and unimportant and these men did not look like traders. However, when they broke their journey in the light of day and hid themselves until the twilight hours, the Ranger realised that the travellers were Haradrim and there were enough vessels to facilitate an army. 

He fled before discovery, armed with intelligence that upon further reflection, told him just how grave the situation was. True, the shield of the White Mountains protected the White City from attack. However, the fiefdom of Lossarnach was plum ripe for the picking. He knew that the attack upon the Reunified Kingdom was anticipated from the eastern shore and that other Rangers were watching the Harad Road. However, the reasoning behind the journey along the Sirith proved that the enemy were also aware of this fact. 

Entering the Sirith, the fleet of ships had avoided detection at Pelargir as they continued their journey northward during the twilight hours, careful to remain unseen as they made their way up river. With the attention of Gondor’s forces and its allies fixed upon the Harad Road and the mountains of Ephel Dúath, there was no reason for the enemy to be detected until they reached Lossarnach. 

Lossarnach was one of the oldest fiefdoms of Gondor, a land of flowery vale ruled by good King Forlong who had died at the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Forlong had left no heirs and since the king had fallen in defence of White City, a steward had been appointed to rule the land in the wake of his death. Lossarnach was a place often visited by the nobles of Gondor as a summer place because of its inherent beauty and had very little in the way of military might. During the War of the Ring, they had only been able to spare two hundred men and when these were lost, had none to replace them. Since many of fiefdoms now looked to Gondor for protection, Lossarnach was virtually defenceless. 

An attack upon Lossarnach would be nothing less than devastating for the Reunified Kingdom but of supreme value to the Haradrim should they capture it. From Lossarnach, they could establish a beachhead from which to launch a more savage attack upon Minas Tirith itself or become so entrenched that it would taken all the might of Gondor to dislodge them, might which was needed to defend the rest of the kingdom. It was a cunning plan that hinged upon the secrecy of the Haradrim approach to Lossarnach. 

The Ranger had been pushing himself harder than he had ever pushed himself before. Since his discovery, he had been moving across the land at a relentless pace, allowing nothing to stop them. He knew that King Elessar had sent many troops to Ithilien, preparing for the expected attack upon Emyn Arnen. Those forces however, would have to be diverted immediately if Lossarnach was to be saved. He honestly did not know if they had time enough to reach the vale in time. 

* * *

They said the dead could not speak but in the Dead Marshes, the Wainriders who had taken refuge in the fetid marshland swore they could hear the dead warriors of their race whispering in the dark. From the time of Eamil and the Battle of the Camp to the more recent carnage during the war of the Ring, the voices of the dead cried out for vengeance amidst the murky fog and spitting rain. It was as if the souls who had perished were bound to the swampland when they had fallen. For many years, those who had not succumbed to the perils of the marsh believed that the quest for revenge was a pointless exercise, none believed that they could ever possess the power to rise up against the enemy once more. 

However, the alliance had changed all this. Not since the attack upon the old kings of Gondor had there been such solidarity amongst them now that they were preparing to launch themselves upon the Reunified Kingdom in battle. The alliance comprised of almost all the races that had been wronged by Gondor in the War of the Ring and even if many of them were factions split from their own nations. It did not matter. United, they were a force to be reckoned. 

Even the races of the Black Speech, who dwelt in the caverns of Moria, had been enlisted in their cause and were now were preparing their own offensive with the assistance of the Dunlendings and the Easterling agents who were providing leadership against the Rohirrim. The Haradrim were pushing hard towards Lossarnach while the Easterling had their own orders to hold back and wait. The general in command of all these armies had planned his assault well and had ensured that enough disinformation was carried to the Gondorian king through his Rangers to ensure that the commanders of the Westernesse would be uncertain of where the actual attack would come. 

And the Wainriders had their own orders as they were joined by more of their brethren from Rhovanian and had become a sizeable force laying in wait in part of Middle earth that no one thought capable of sustaining life. The Dead Marsh was perhaps the most inhospitable place in Middle earth, save Mordor itself. The Rangers had thought it too desolate for any creature to willingly remain there and had failed to keep a close eye upon the region. It also aided in their anonymity that most believed the Wainriders had perished in the marsh during the War of the Ring.

It was because of this belief the Wainriders were able to make their way south through the mountains of Ephel Dúath. It did not matter if the Rangers caught sight of them because there were other forces already in place, ensuring that when the time came much of Emyn Arnen’s forces would be diverted elsewhere. The strength of Gondor had always been in its allies and the leader of the Easterling Confederacy understood this all too well. The strategy of their campaign was not in meeting Gondor in open confrontation but to cut the strength from under its feet. 

Before they brought the Reunified Kingdom to its knees, they would first see to it that King Elessar knew he was very much alone. 

* * *

His had been one of many faces that marched home to Harad in defeat following the destruction of the Sauron’s Ring and the subsequent vanquishing of the dark lord from the realm of Middle earth for all time. He remembered well the despair felt by the men he had led and those who knew that it was not simply a war that had been lost but their entire way of life. As most of their captains were killed in the war against Gondor, he had been promoted quickly to fill in the command structure that was severely depleted. However, it was clear that the days of warfare for the Haradrim were over. The will to fight had died with Sauron. 

Turning inward to their own affairs brought home the stark reality of their situation. So much of their lives were dedicated to war and extorting food supplies from surrounding fiefdoms that were incapable of stopping them because of their military might and fear of the Dark One in Mordor. Now that he was driven away forever and much of the Haradrim’s strength was lying dead on the battlefields of the war, coercion was no longer possible and the food supplies came to a grinding halt. The Haradrim made some effort to take up the industry of large scale farming but such an enterprise would take time and they did not have enough to spare before wide spread starvation became a reality.

Turning to their neighbours, the Haradrim learnt that the Easterlings and Corsairs were faced with similar troubles and it exacerbated their hatred even more when there was talk of unparalleled prosperity in the Reunified Kingdom, the source of all their misery. Even more painful was when the Gondorian King made offer of grain in exchange for a treaty of peace. The Haradrim leader Ulfrain seemed to accept this exchange willingly enough though there were whispers that he had a secret agenda of his own. It was a secret that was not revealed until their most respected general returned home with the body of their king and claimed that Ulfrain had to die because of his alliance with shape shifters.

He did not disagree that Castigliari had done right by killing Ulfrain if he had entered such an alliance for being slave to another dark lord did not appeal to the Haradrim or the Easterlings very much and Ulfrain had gone to Gondor speaking for the Confederacy. What he did take offence with as did the rest of the leaders who heard Castigliari’s speech was the unconditional surrendering of their national pride to Gondor, to accept the aid of King Elessar and enter a treaty with the Reunified Kingdom. Whether or not Castigiliari deserved death was something he had no power to change and the general had gone to his death with honour, head held high as he had always done so when riding into battle. 

Ulfrain left no heirs which was one of the reasons why the throne was laid at his feet. Prior to Ulfrain’s death, he was a lesser noble with almost no chance of securing the throne but his links to Ulfrain and Ulfang the Black were undeniable. He was of the royal bloodline. They gave him the throne and were pleased that their choice was not some pampered young prince, but rather a season soldier of the field. Once in place, he knew what had to be done. Since the end of the war and his subsequent return home to find his land facing a new crisis, the solution had always been clear. 

War. 

If they were to survive, it had to be war. However, he was not so foolish as to repeat the mistakes of the past. To win, they had to move carefully. Elessar’s reclaiming of the Gondorian throne from the line of Stewards had ensured that he had the allegiance of almost every Westernesse fief in Middle earth. Fiefdoms that had remained separate from Gondor suddenly rallied to Minas Tirith with the return of the king. From Dol Amroth, to Lossarnach, he doubted that any king was as beloved as Elessar. With Ithilien and the Rohirrim ready to protect Minas Tirith at any cost, there was also the possibility of an elven involvement since it was well known that Elessar was raised by the elves and had even taken one as his queen. 

Thus he took steps to ensure that the elves did not become involve and though it would require more extreme measures then the butchering of one small village, he was confident that when the lesson was inflicted, the elves would withdraw completely from the conflict. The elves often considered themselves above it all, that they were untouchable. 

Danallar of Harad had every intention of showing them how wrong they were. 

* * *

When Anna had finally revealed to Melia as best as could be told by a seven year old the destruction of Lebethron, the lady of Eden Ardhon set her down for a nap. The little girl who had poured out her heart in a most emotionally charged narrative, was more than happy to rest as she had wept almost as much as she had spoken. As Melia feared, Anna had seen the death of her parents under the stampeding charge of the mumakils being ridden by the Easterlings. It disturbed Melia that there was an Easterling army no more than a few days journey away from Eden Ardhon. She supposed that it was fortunate that Legolas had chosen to take the King’s advice to maintain their neutrality until the Easterlings were confident that they had no intention of participating in the conflict and moved on.

Melia left the house with the intention of resuming some of her duties as Lady of Eden Ardhon when she suddenly noticed a commotion involving Aloin and two elves escorting a man into the heart of the colony. As Melia picked up her skirts and hastened her pace to meet them, she saw that the man had a familiar face. He appeared exhausted and a little older from when she last beheld him but it was without doubt the same man. 

"Handor?" Melia asked with no small measure of surprise. "Is that you?" 

"Melia!" The man looked up and a swell of relief flooded his face at her presence. "I am glad to find you here." 

"Find you?" Aloin looked at him dubiously. "My lady, we found this man stumbling about our wood like a lost child and you will afford the Lady Melia, the proper respect due the wife of our Lord." Aloin warned Handor. 

Melia tried to stifle a smile as Handor gave Aloin a dark look before turning to Melia, "please Mel…my lady," Handor corrected himself and resumed again, "you know me. I come here at the greatest urgency seeking your assistance." 

By now, a small gathering of elves had come to observe the excitement and Melia met Aloin’s gaze.

"Release him. I know this man, his name is Handor and he is a Ranger. We encountered each other in Angmar. I can assure you, he is a man to be trusted." 

Aloin’s frown deepened, however he took Melia at her word and gestured to his men to obey her request to release Handor. 

"Now what is it that is so important that you would attempt to enter an elven city without invitation?" Melia asked once Handor found himself no longer a prisoner. 

"Not more than five days ago, I saw a fleet of ships moving up the River Sirith," Handor wasted no time with the details of what he had seen and got to the meat of it. "They were cautious enough to travel by night and rest by day to avoid being seen. My lady, there was enough of them for an army and they travel the river with such speed that I do not think they were the first. I believe they were bound for Lossarnach." 

"Lossarnach?" Melia exclaimed with horror. "Are you certain?" 

"Yes," Handor nodded. "I remained with them as long as I could, until I could determine their plans but I dared not linger too long for I know what I had learnt was too important to be lost. I am certain that they plan to take Lossarnach." 

Melia thought quickly and saw the same realisation crossing the faces of Aloin and the rest of the guards under his command. From Lossarnach, the Haradrim would be in perfect position to launch an assault upon Minas Tirith. 

"Aloin," Melia said after a moment. "You must ride immediately to Emyn Arnen and warn them that an attack upon Lossarnach is eminent." 

"But Prince Faramir is meeting Lord Legolas is in Lebethron," Aloin pointed out. 

"That is true," Melia agreed. "However his army and that of Gondor’s is in Ithilien expecting an attack from the east, not the west. If the Haradrim take Lossarnach, they could entrench themselves there for an further assault upon any number of Gondorian fiefdoms, not to mention the White City itself." 

"We should also send word to Lebethron," Aloin added, agreeing with Melia’s assessment of the situation. "Endornórë, you will go to Lebethron and inform them of what we have learnt here. With good fortune, we can prevent this news from becoming tragedy." 

As the elves prepared themselves to ride, Melia prayed that their actions would not be seen by the enemy as a break in their neutrality or else the preventing of one tragedy could very well result in another.


	4. The Harvest of Disinformation

****The sombre business of burying the dead of Lebethron was a deed done when Aragorn and Faramir arrived finally in the ruined village some days later. They found Legolas’ camp a short distance away from the town proper, surrounded by the trees that would now remain unharvested since those who cared for them had met tragic ends.  When the men of Gondor joined the lord of Eden Ardhon at his encampment, their mood was no better than his.  The devastation they were forced to witness as they took the road through Lebethron had left as deep an impression in their minds as it had upon Legolas.  Fortunately they could claim that they had not seen the worst of it since they had been spared the horror of burying bodies.

The mark of it was left clearly upon Legolas. When Aragorn cast eyes upon his old friend with the campsite where he and the rest of his company from Eden Ardhon awaited Aragorn’s arrival, the king could see the deaths of Lebethron’s people preyed heavily upon the heart of the elf.   It was easy to mistake Legolas as being aloof and dispassionate to the plight of others because he kept his emotions hidden beneath the enigmatic façade worn by all elves.  However, Aragorn and those who knew him well knew just how deeply he felt things and how outraged the destruction of Lebethron must have left him. 

After journeying through Lebethron and seeing for himself, the savage brutality of the Easterlings who had committed the terrible act of murder upon its innocents, Aragorn confessed to similar outrage. All the things that had inspired Legolas’ animosity and fierce desire to fight had also stoked a white-hot flame within Aragorn’s heart as he saw the remnants of the village in the wake of the enemy’s barbarism. It would have been close to harvest he had thought during the silent odyssey through the ruined village. It should have been a time of plenty and joy, not the terrible events that followed. They were his people! They looked to Gondor to protect them but Gondor and its king had failed them. 

Under different circumstances, their greeting would have been joyous but this was not the occasion for such levity. The old companions greeted each other with warm salutations as was their custom upon seeing each other but their mood was heavy with unspoken despair at Lebethron’s fate.  The question of what was to be done could wait for a time as Legolas showed Aragorn and Faramir the final resting place of Lebethron’s folk. They had been unable to do anything except place the bodies in one grave since neither the elves nor Gimli knew the names of all that had perished. 

After the sombre duty was done, they returned to the campsite as the sun was beginning to disappear beneath the wood. The other elves in Legolas’ party had prepared a meal and the old friends gathered around the campfire as the daylight dwindled around them to break bread.  Pregnant in all their minds was how this situation was to be dealt with. As Aragorn looked across the fire at Legolas, the elf’s pale skin was bathed in the amber light of flame that seemed to fit his mood. The king could tell what was on Legolas’ mind as he met the elf’s dark eyes. 

“This must be answered for Aragorn,” Legolas broke the silence at last. 

“Not by you or Eden Ardhon,” Aragorn returned firmly. 

“You cannot expect to let them get away with this!” Gimli burst forth with less restraint.  “You did not see the dead Aragorn, you did not the savagery of what was done to them.  If this is allowed to go unanswered, the enemy will take it as leave to commit this brutality again!”

“There will be justice,” Faramir spoke in a far calmer voice because he could see that Aragorn was barely able to contain his own outrage at what had happened, the wound salted further by their own witness of the destruction.  “However, vengeance will accomplish us nothing.” 

“Aragorn,” Legolas returned. “They did this to warn away my involvement. These people are dead because of Eden Ardhon!.” 

“No,” Aragorn broke in sharply. “These people are dead because we are at war, not because of you or your people. What I asked of you in Gondor when the first declaration of war was made still holds, you cannot become embroiled in this affair.” 

“Eden Ardhon can protect itself, we have the lay of the forest to hide us.” Legolas retorted.  “They will not dare attack an elven colony without fear of inciting the anger of the rest of my people.” 

Aragorn stared at Legolas in some measure of shock, “did you not understand the content of their warning? It was to show you that they would attack Eden Ardhon in the same manner if you interfere. Legolas please,” Aragorn calmed himself. “Lord Elrond once told Gandalf that the time of elves in this land is done. He was right Legolas, one day you and your people will sail over the sea and not look back upon Middle earth. It will be up to men to determine the course of the future and for us to be able to do that we must fight our own battles. I do not wish Eden Ardhon harmed because of this conflict but neither do I want the situation worsened. It pains me to say this but your involvement in our war could make you a liability we cannot afford to have.” 

His words inspired pain. Aragorn could see the hurt surface briefly in the elf’s eyes before quickly being crushed into oblivion once again.  Aragorn felt a stab of regret in his heart knowing his words had hurt the elf but he could see no other way of making Legolas understand. However, even as he achieved his desired goal, the king of Gondor had seen that it had come with a price. 

“As you will,” Legolas said quietly, rising to his feet, “King of Gondor.” 

With that he walked away, leaving the three alone.  

Aragorn was tempted to go after Legolas, to explain himself a little better but he sensed that the elf wanted to be alone and would remain so if he did not wish to be found. He met Faramir’s gaze and knew immediately that the Steward was not in complete agreement with what he had just said to the lord of Eden Ardhon. However, Faramir had become accustomed to holding his tongue and making his objections to any policy that Aragorn made in private. It was the conditioning of being the second of Denethor’s sons. Unfortunately, Gimli was not so capable of masking his feelings. 

“How could you say that to him?” Gimli demanded with unhidden anger. 

“It was necessary,” Aragorn replied. “I did it for his own good.” 

“How dare you be so presumptuous as to tell an elf what is for his own good?” Gimli glowered.  “He has lived longer than all of us put together and I do believe that makes him qualified to judge what is and isn’t good for him! He remains here in Middle earth because he cares about his friends and you just threw that loyalty back his face!” 

“He cannot protect Eden Ardhon the way Elrond protected Imlardis Master Gimli,” Aragorn barked back feeling his own temper inspired by the guilt of Legolas’ reaction. “While he is at our side, fighting our war, who protects his people? I rather have his feelings hurt now that have him return from a campaign fighting the Confederacy to find his city in ruins and his people dead!” 

“That is his choice to make,” the dwarf argued. “Not yours.  You have known him the longest, do you think he would sit by idly and allow his friends do battle while he remains safely hidden. Do not be too certain that this war of yours will be as easily won as you imagine. You may yet need Legolas’ aid.” 

“It is precisely because I do not think this war easily won that I wish Legolas to maintain his neutrality in all this.  The Haradrim have been rallying allies from all quarters. I believe they are amassing an army equal to the size of what we faced during the war with Sauron. When the attack comes, I cannot waste valuable resources attempting to protect Eden Ardhon should Legolas allow it to become a target.” 

“Enough,” Faramir finally spoke up before tempers flared beyond either to control, “this matter is not to be resolve tonight. We are all tired. I think we should let alone this issue until our wits are not so frayed.” 

Aragorn was no longer listening. His gaze had shifted into the darkness for he had heard the approach of a rider on horseback.   Years of living in the wild had sharpened his hearing and though Faramir and Gimli had yet to hear the new arrival, Aragorn was certain they were about to have a visitor. The former Ranger rose to his feet, ensnaring the attention of his companions. 

“Someone is here,” he announced as he drew away from the fire. 

The elves with Legolas returned from their patrol, probably sensing the approach as well. Legolas emerged from the trees where Aragorn had no doubt the elf’s keen hearing had heard the discussion between Gimli and himself. There was no trace of the pain he had caused Legolas earlier but Aragorn was certain that it was not far from the elf’s mind, despite Legolas’ impassive mask. 

“Who is it?” Aragorn asked as the shape of the rider appeared through the trees. 

“It is Endornórë,” Nunaur announced first. 

“Endornórë?” Legolas declared with surprise. “We left him at Eden Ardhon. What could bring him here?” 

Those who were present did not venture a guess but surmised that it must have been a matter of great importance for the elf to undertake such a journey to reach his lord.  Aragorn however, feared that they had made a fatal miscalculation and that the Easterlings had attacked Eden Ardhon, despite the warning it had issued to Legolas.   As the elf dismounted his horse and hurried towards them, Aragorn prayed that his suspicions were wrong because if Endornórë was here with such news then it was already too late for Eden Ardhon. 

“Endornórë!” Legolas called out as the elf reached them. “What are you doing here?” 

“My lord!” Endornórë bowed his head slightly as he greeted Legolas, “I come bearing grave news from home.” 

“What has happened?” The prince demanded fearful that the possibility that preyed so heavily upon Aragorn’s mind had come to pass. Instinctively, he thought of Melia and the elves that had become like family to him since the establishment of his colony in South Ithilien. The very idea that some terrible harm might have befallen them tightened the heart in his chest and threatened to force the air from his lungs in sheer panic. 

“We found a Ranger attempting to reach Eden Ardhon,” Endornórë explained, sensing that his lord was fearing the worst. Even though his news would provide Legolas no comfort, Endornórë wanted to allay his fears that Eden Ardhon was not in danger. 

The mention of a Ranger produced an immediate reaction from Aragorn, whose concerns were already spiralling out of control.  Like everyone present, Aragorn knew that only a matter of utmost urgency could force any elf to make the long journey from Eden Ardhon to reach them. 

“A Ranger?” Aragorn stepped forward. He could not imagine why a Ranger with important news would make for Eden Ardhon instead of Gondor and was eager to hear more. 

“Explain yourself!” he barked even though the only one present with leave to command Endornórë was Legolas.  However, the Lord of Eden Ardhon understood Aragorn’s concerns and took no offence since he knew Aragorn had good reason for demanding a speedy answer. 

“He arrived the day after you had departed Lord Legolas,” Endornórë began addressing Legolas instead of Aragorn, despite the king’s demand. “We found him attempting to enter our borders and brought him to the colony. He revealed to us that his name is Handor.” 

“I know Handor,” Aragorn replied, the memory of the man in question surfacing in his mind. He was one of the more seasoned Rangers in the king’s service. “He was once of Angmar I believe. Was Melia was able to confirm this?” 

“Yes,” Endornórë nodded. “She did say that she knew him.” 

“So what is it that brought him to Eden Ardhon?” Faramir asked abruptly, more interested in knowing the content of the Ranger’s news rather than the confirmation of his identity. 

“The Ranger claims to have seen a convoy of ships moving up the River Sirith,” Endornórë answered promptly. “He thinks that they are Haradrim and their destination may be the lands of Lossarnach. Lady Melia thought it was best that it best that the king be told immediately. She insisted that both Aloin and I set out from Eden Ardhon at once to find you.  We parted company when he took the road to Emyn Arnen.” 

For an instant, no one spoke. Words were difficult to form when such an impossible situation faced them. However, the momentary pause was brief and soon their voices were cascading over one another, struggling to be heard. 

“That’s impossible,” Faramir exclaimed first, his voice revealing his disbelief. “The Sirith is not a deep river, ships large enough to carry an army cannot sail through its waters.” 

Aragorn was nowhere that sceptical.  His mind was already searching the ways in which the impossible might very well be the truth.  There were many types of sailing vessels and though Gondor had access to the sea, it was not really a seafaring nation. The same could not be said for the Haradrim and the Easterlings who relied greatly on the sea for their trade with each other as well as the distant Sunlands. It was very possible that they might possess sailing craft capable of navigating the waters of the Sirith.  

“Handor claims that the enemy were sailing on ships he had never seen before.  They appeared to need oarsmen and resembled barges or large rafts.” 

“Oarsmen,” Aragorn nodded, having heard of ships that did not rely upon the wind to move. If this were the case, then the crafts presently making its way up the Sirith did not need sails or a long keel to direct itself. “Did they stop frequently?” He asked quickly, hoping that Endornórë had the answers he needed. 

“Yes,” the elf nodded quickly. “The Ranger claims they journeyed by night and rested by day.” 

It was as Aragorn feared. The king turned immediately to Faramir, no longer any doubt in his mind that they were faced with an impending crisis. He had the utmost faith in his Rangers and if one of them had taken the swifter route from the Sirith to Eden Ardhon in order to save valuable time in delivering the news to his king, then Aragorn was not about to dismiss his efforts “We do not have a great deal of time,” Aragorn said to his Steward. “Faramir, you are to ride immediately to our armies at Ithilien and have them march to Lossarnach. Melia’s foresight will ensure that they will be ready to march when you arrive. How long ago did Handor see these Haradrim?” 

“Five days,” Endornórë replied grimly. “They were almost nearing the end of the Sirith when he left them to reach us.” 

“Then they could already be marching towards Lossarnach,” Aragorn determined. “I will ride to Lossarnach to warn its people of what is coming and prepare the fortifications for the city. You will bring the army from Ithilien.” 

“You should not be going to Ithilien,” Faramir pointed out. “We do not know for certain how close the enemy is to Lossarnach, if we are late, you may find yourself trapped behind enemy lines.” 

“Lossarnach will not become enemy lines,” Aragorn retorted, his jaw clenching in anger at the mere possibility.  “I will die before I allow that to happen.”  
”With all due respect, that is precisely what I do not wish,” Faramir returned with just as much determination. As Steward, his duty was not merely to Gondor but also to his king. “Our war effort will be crippled severely if any harm were to befall you. I must insist that you allow me to go to Lossarnach.”

“Faramir, I do not have time to debate this with you,” Aragorn declared, starting to get increasingly annoyed at the younger man’s insistence. 

“We will go with him,” Legolas interrupted before the discussion became any more heated than it already was.

Aragorn turned sharply to Legolas, “Legolas, you cannot. If you ride to Lossarnach at my side, you will be committing your people to war.”

“Aragorn,” Legolas looked at him with equal impatience. “You know as well as I that most of Lossarnach’s warriors perished during the War of the Ring. They have at best a scant military presence and the Haradrim legions that will be falling upon the vale are seasoned veterans. Local militia cannot stand up to them. You will need to hold Lossarnach until Faramir arrives with Gondor’s forces and you will need to do so with what few veterans are at your disposal there. I will not allow you to face such peril alone. As Lord of Eden Ardhon, I can do little to aid your conflict but as your friend, I can keep you from getting yourself killed. I do not think I would be committing the elves to war if I stood at your side on this one occasion.” 

Aragorn was not so certain but he knew that there was very little he could do to change Legolas’ mind when the elf was so determined.   Legolas’ stubborn countenance told Aragorn that he would have better chance moving the Argonath single-handedly then he would of convincing Legolas to withdraw.  

“Please listen to him,” Faramir pleaded, satisfied with that much if he could not convince Aragorn to turn from this ill advised course. “If you intend on doing this thing then at least use what advantage you have.” 

“Especially when you have no choice in the matter,” Gimli added his voice in and he was even more intractable on the issue than Legolas. “You need us Aragorn, admit it.” 

He  _did_  need them. Aragon could not deny that fact despite his reservations about Legolas accompanying him to Lossarnach.  As things stood, it would be a race against time to reach Lossarnach before the arrival of the Haradrim and Legolas was absolutely correct. During the War of the Ring, Lossarnach had lost many of its soldiers in the defence of Minas Tirith.  With the defeat of Sauron, there had be little need to rebuild a sizeable army when the fiefdom could look to Gondor for protection.  Unfortunately, no one had anticipated the Haradrim attacking Lossarnach from the direction of the Sirith and this lack of foresight had left the fief wide open to its enemies. 

“I do need you,” Aragorn confessed, “I cannot deny that. If the Haradrim take Lossarnach, they will have a formidable base from which to wage a prolonged war against us. I have no choice but to accept your aid to ensure this does not happen. However, I fear the consequences that will result from this.” 

Legolas stared at Nunaur and Endornórë, aware that the consequences that worried Aragorn so would be suffered by the elves should it come to pass. He saw the understanding in their eyes and knew that they did not wish to cower in fear of what  _could_  happen when they were needed  _now_. 

“We know the choice we make Aragorn and we stand with you,” Legolas replied finally, “this time at least.” 

“As do we with you my lord,” Nunuar added returning Legolas’ gaze. “We will not abandon the Elfstone in his hour of need.” 

Aragorn took a deep breath, grateful for their desire to help and realising at that moment that what would happen would do so because it was Fate’s decision to allow it, not his.  At the moment, he had more immediate concerns to occupy his mind and that was to reach Lossarnach before it suffered the same destruction as Lebethron. 

* * *

 

The bleak landscape that skirted the fringes of the White Mountains stared back at Eomer with complete indifference, even though hidden its thick canopy of trees and grey mists were tribes of men whose feelings were anything but impartial.  For Eomer, this was just another chapter in the continuing enmity between the Rohirrim and the Dunlendings.  While most of the tribes were now supplicant to Rohan following the War of the Ring, Eomer knew that he would gain very little assistance from the Dunlendings in hunting down their rogue brothers who were thought to have formed an alliance with the Easterling Confederacy.

 

The dislike between the two nations had continued for centuries, the most recent show of aggression being the Dunlendings alliance with the traitor of Isengard.  Held by the sway of Saruman the White, the Dunlendings had allied themselves with the Istar’s Uruk-Hai army to launch an all out assault upon Rohan. At the battle of Helm’s Deep, the Rohirrim would have been defeated if not for the unexpected assistance of the Huorns of Fangborn.  Fighting alongside of one of Middle earth’s oldest races, they had destroyed the Dunlending threat once and for all and retook Isengard from Saruman.

 

Since the War of the Ring, all had been peaceful.  Despite their capitulation, Eomer had sought not to lord the Rohirrim victory over the Dunlendings, hoping to engender some kind of friendship between the old rivals. While this was far from being achieved, Eomer had hoped that they were no longer the blood enemies of old. Unfortunately, the recent declaration of war with the Easterling Confederacy had proved that he had been wrong about a great many things.

 

Eomer had been aware that some Dunlending tribes were distasteful of the notion of any kind of peace with the Rohirrim and had disappeared into the wilds of the Misty Mountains rather than to live under the yoke of Rohan.  While they remained in the wilderness causing little mischief to the people of Rohan, Eomer was content to leave them be. Unfortunately, the advent of war had given these tribes an new ally. Agents of the Easterling Confederacy had spread throughout the region and had apparently given the rogue tribes a reason to emerge from their self imposed exile.

 

With the possibility that Edoras was under threat, Eomer was not about to wait for the enemy to strike.      Leaving the Golden Hall behind, the King of the Mark led the Rohirrim towards the Gap of Rohan where a sighting of Dunlendings was reported in the mountains of Ered Nimrais.  The Dunlendings preferred to remain in their own territories or in the foothills of the Misty Mountain, that they were within the borders of Rohan convinced Eomer they were about to make a move against the Rohirrim.  If the Dunlendings wanted war then Eomer would be happy to oblige them but he was not going to give the pleasure of choosing the field of battle.

 

For almost a week, Bowen, Eomer’s trusted Marshall of the Mark had been tracking a group of rogue Dunlendings on the fringes of the White Mountains, waiting patiently in secret as more tribes arrived from Dunland and joined their outcast brethren. Bowen suspected and Eomer agreed, that the Dunlendings would make for Edoras to strike at the heart of Rohan once their ranks were at their full complement.  Their actions seemed sensible despite their dangerous plan of attack when one considered the Dunlendings larger goal.  An assault upon the Golden Hall would result in the recall of the Rohirrim presently at Ithilien.  The removal of the cavalry would fracture the military alliance between Gondor and Rohan and weaken the defences at Ithilien.

 

Night was falling fast and Eomer hoped to reach the rendezvous point he and Bowen had agreed upon when the marshal had first sent him the message in Edoras that he had located the Dunlendings camp. The crescent moon had risen high in the night sky and he knew that many of his men were uneasy about moving through such unfamiliar landscape in the darkness. The Rohirrim preferred open terrain instead of the cloistered confinement of the mountain foothills they found themselves traversing on this occasion. Outcrops of large boulders and rocks, coupled with looming trees made it difficult to gauge distance or enemies approaching.

 

The horses too were becoming increasingly unsettled. Eomer’s own steed, Rochallor, named after the great steed that had belonging to Fingolfin, had ridden with him through many battles. As one of the legendary breed of horses called the mearas, Rochallor was not easily frightened.  Yet on this occasion, Eomer could sense an almost human reluctance in the animal to continue their journey any further.  Glancing at the other riders at his side, Eomer noticed that the anxiety was not exclusive to his mount.  Other horses were becoming increasingly agitated and Eomer knew that if the horses were anxious, then there was good reason to fear.

 

“Sire, something is a foot,” Carleon, Third Marshall of the Mark and holder of the title that was once Eomer’s, nudged his horse alongside his king and remarked with eyes scouring the darkness.  He studied it with such depth that Eomer could have been mistaken for believing he was capable of seeing in the darkness like an elf.

 

“I know,” Eomer nodded in agreement. “However I do not wish to turn away before we find Bowen and the others. If something is wrong, they may be in need of our assistance.”

 

“It may already be too late,” Carleon pointed out.

 

Eomer said nothing but continued to lead his men deeper into the foothills. However, the Rohirrim moved with caution, keeping as close an eye upon their swords as they did upon the uncertain road ahead. Eomer was starting to fear the worst about Bowen as the agitation of the animals increased with the shadow of the mountain looming higher over their heads.  As they neared their rendezvous point, Eomer searched for evidence of Bowen’s army in the distance and saw nothing that would indicate their presence. There were no voices being carried upon the wind, no smell of food cooking or glowing fires.  Where there should have been signs of life there was only overwhelming darkness.

 

Something was wrong.

 

Eomer could feel it in his bones and it was far worse than any of them suspected. With each second that passed, producing no sign of their comrades, Eomer grew more convinced that something terrible had befallen the Marshall of Riddermark and his men.  When the horses began neighing in protest at their continued advancement towards the appointed meeting place, Eomer had decided that he could no longer ignore the animals’ keen sense that trouble was near.

 

“We will go no further,” Eomer told Carleon who nodded in agreement with his king that the air was so thick with sinister possibility that it could be sliced through with the blade. “We will withdraw into open country and begin our search for Bowen at dawn’s light.”

 

“I will give our men the order,” Carleon replied somewhat relieved. Like his king, the third marshal had serious doubts about their rendezvous with Bowen since they ought to have sighted his encampment by now.  Bowen’s absence, particularly after the curious reaction of the horses, was met with grave concerns for their own well being as those present feared that they may be riding into the same misfortune that befallen their missing brethren.

 

When Carleon noticed the worried expression on his king’s face, the marshal made some effort to allay Eomer’s fears. “Perhaps they were delayed,” he offered, aware that it was a foolish hope at best.

 

“Perhaps,” Eomer returned shortly, “however I do not believe so. Such possibilities are too improbable these days. However I will not assume the worst just yet. When the sun rises tomorrow, we will seek them out and if they are alive still, we find them. If they are harmed then not even Ered Nimrais will be able to hide the Dunlendings from my wrath.”

The order was issued through the ranks of the Rohirrim who did not much like the notion of retreating when in all likelihood that the Rohirrim under the command of Bowen had come to hard at the hands of the Dunlendings. However, the prevailing darkness was almost a pitch black curtain around them and while they could see the faint outline of the mountains and the crescent moon in the sky, there was very little of their immediate surroundings they could make out except to discern that they were at a disadvantage.  The riders halted in their advance to begin the journey back to safer terrain when suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of drums beating with slow resonance. The percussive sound was more eerie then it was deafening but it was not that which Eomer noticed so much.

 

It was the realisation that the drums were all around them.

 

Eomer tensed, remembering the stories told by Gimli during the dwarf’s visits to Edoras on route to his home of Aglarond, in particular the tale of the Fellowship’s journey through the mines of Moria. 

 

“Goblins!” Eomer shouted before he could even think to consider if what he was claiming was possible.

 

Whether or not it was possible, no sooner than he uttered the word, a phalanx of arrows escaped their bows and sailed through the air.  Their flight through the air was audible above the steady beat of the goblin drums but the sound lingered for only as long as the arrows took to reach their mark. Very soon a different sound filled their ears as the enemy emerged from the darkness and attacked.  Arrows met flesh, drawing out screams of pain amidst the war cry made in Black Speech. He could hear the alarm moving swiftly through the ranks of his men as he tried desperately to be heard over the chaos.

 

The goblins were emerging from the darkness amidst the pounding of drums and Eomer heard the unsheathing of swords and the voice of his men as they defended themselves. His concerns for his men were forgotten momentarily when across the rocks, a dark shape moved swiftly towards him. Eomer removed his sword from its scabbard; trying to still Rochallor’s excitement while at the same time swining his weapon at the approaching enemy.  The blade struck flesh as the goblin lunged at the king, its cry like the sound of screeching birds when Eomer sunk his sword deep into the creature.

  
Blood spurted across Eomer’s armour as the horse pulled away from the grisly scene and the would be assassin tumbled away into the dirt beneath the steed’s feet Eomer turned to his men and found that they too were locked in a life and death struggle with the goblins who had obviously lain in wait for them. As the king battled more attackers, a fleeting thought crossed his mind at what had become of Bowen and the Rohirrim with him. Had they fallen prey to the same ruse? 

 

Eomer staved away another attack when suddenly, an arrow shrouded in darkness and silenced by the pandemonium around him, slammed into the king’s shoulder, invading the crack between his breast plate and his shoulder guard to pierce his skin and toppled him from the saddle.  The king landed heavily on the cold ground, uttering a cry of pain when he landed upon his wounded shoulder, the arrow driving deeper into his flesh. His sword fell away from his grip and its loss sent panic through Eomer as he scrambled to retrieve it. However, the enemy could smell his injury in the same manner that hyenas know one of their own is wounded.  Eomer saw the misshapen silhouette of three goblin men closing in on him, their  bared teeth gleaming in the faint glimmer of the moon.

 

Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Eomer forced himself to his knees and flung his dagger at the nearest enemy. A scream of pain told the king that his blade had met its mark and he could see the hilt lodge deeply in the goblin’s thigh. He growled in pain at Eomer as one of his companions swung an axe at the King of the Mark. Eomer leapt out of the way as the heavy blade sunk into the ground. His escape however did not save him from the attack of the third goblin that kicked him hard. Eomer spun as he felt ribs crack as he landed hard on the ground, the pain searing through him. However, it was never wise to enrage a Rohirrim and in his anger, the king was capable of proving how deadly he was.

 

Tearing the arrow from his shoulder and producing a surge of pain that would have made even the strongest flinch, Eomer cried out as the bloodied projectile escaped his flesh. The goblin advanced to attack but Eomer’s pain and adrenalin had made him fast. The king stopped the advanced, spearing the bloodied arrow through the goblin’s eye, as the sharp point ended the threat of him with chilling finality. 

 

The other two had recovered from his aggressive defence and were now rushing towards him. Eomer took a step back and suddenly felt his heel of his foot brush against hard metal. Realization dawned upon him instantly and the king dropped immediately, wrapping his fist around the hilt of his fallen sword. Swinging hard, he tore open the belly of the first, causing a spray of black blood in all directions. The goblin screeched in a pain and Eomer rose to his full height with sword in hand as the last member of the ill fated triumvirate made its bid for a king’s head. Unfortunately, it was a bid that cost him his own as Eomer’s blade made sliced cleanly though his neck.

 

The battle was by no means over but the king still lived and while he lived, there was no defeat.

 

* * *

 

There was no time to spare.

 

They did not even wait until sunrise to begin the journey to Lossarnach once Endornórë had brought his grave news to the camp at Lebethron.  Lingering long enough to gather their belongings and discard what was not needed since the horses needed to travel fast and could not be burdened by too much weight, the king and his companions set out for Lossarnach in what was literally a race against time.  Faramir rode with them for as long as he could but he needed to make for Ithilien with just as much haste for there would be no victory for anyone if Gondor’s armies were unable to reach Lossarnach in time to defend her against the impending Haradrim attack.

 

Although Aragorn would have preferred to ride until there was not a breath in his body, he was forced to concede that pauses in their journey was necessary for the sake of the horses. Riding hard with the Anduin on one side of them and the mountains of Ephel Duath on the other, the riders could feel the weight of urgency pursuing them with unrelenting persistence. Aragorn wished he had Gandalf’s wisdom for he needed the sensibilities of a wizard in the game his enemy was playing with him. Although he did not speak of it to his friends of Fellowship or even Faramir before the Steward continued towards Emyn Arnen, it was a game that Aragorn was losing. He had measured his enemies by the contemporaries he had faced in previous battles and it was proving to be a fatal mistake.

 

His enemy  _knew_  him.

 

Perhaps not in the way his friends or loved ones knew him but the leader of the Easterling Confederacy knew with whom he had to match his wits while Aragorn did not have that advantage. He knew nothing of this elusive man that none of his Rangers had been able to see and unfortunately, Aragorn could not claim similar anonymity. His deeds and his fame was spread far and wide, to almost mythic proportions. Certainly it was so in the Reunified Kingdom and while the enemy lands may not view his accomplishments as acts of heroism, they knew enough to discern what sort of warrior he was and what kind of commander he was on the battlefield. He was a captain that relied heavily upon intelligence to plan his strategy. In being too cautious and learning all that he could of his enemy by using his Rangers, Aragorn saw the flaw in his methods. Intelligence could be falsified and it appeared that was exactly what the enemy had done. He had been fed disinformation and thus allowed himself to be bent like a reed in the wind by the clever lies his opponent was able to leave in his way.

 

Lies had been planted for his benefit and Aragorn had foolishly harvested all of it.

 

The truth was, he had been tricked into believing that the Easterlings were about to attack one way when in fact what they were doing was scattering themselves across the length and breath of the kingdom, using old enemies whose enmity for the Reunified was still fresh after the War of the Ring. Hatred simmering under the humiliation of defeat was easy to provoke, especially when enlisted with promises of glory that had been stolen when a hobbit with more courage than anyone could possibly believe, destroyed Sauron far more effectively than any army in Middle earth.

 

Aragorn could see how it was managed. Sauron had resided in his dark tower of Baradur, issuing orders of the lesser beings under his command, demanding that they help him with promises of spoils beyond the dreams of avarice in return for victory. The Easterling leader did not have to demand, he merely had to ask and remind them of their earlier defeats. Wisely, he had used to his advantage there were some things of greater value to a people, than the spoils of war.

 

There was pride.

 

These were the times when Aragorn wished Boromir was here because Boromir had the ability to say with words what no one could manage, not even Legolas or Arwen. The man of Gondor had a way of looking at things that often stripped away pretensions and trivialities, leaving only the truth in all its naked reality. For eighty years Aragorn had wandered the wilds, taken many names to build the knowledge and experience that would make him king and none of it had been as worthwhile to the cause as knowing Denethor’s oldest son.  Knowing Boromir had taught Aragorn what it was to be burdened by responsibility, to wear it like a chain around the neck in an ever-tightening noose that would only become more weighted as time went by. 

 

Pride himself as he might that the sway of the ring never ensnared him as it did Boromir, he could not say that he was a better man than Boromir. Even as Isildur’s heir, Aragorn never felt the crushing weight of responsibility that had been bred into Boromir by his father to make Gondor prosperous. It would have broken lesser men and had it been him, Aragorn could not say he would have acted any differently than Boromir when faced with the possibility that the One Ring could save everything he held dear.

  
If Boromir were here now, Aragorn could imagine what he would say.

 

_Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with it, Gondor needs you to be king not because you are Isildur’s heir but because you are the only one who can save her!_

He had to stop thinking like a king. He had to start thinking like the man who had led the Nine Walkers to Mordor, the wanderer who bade the dead to keep their oaths and the heir who had shown Sauron the sword that had taken his ring.  Aragorn had underestimated his enemy just as Sauron had underestimated a hobbit. He had been slow to move, a king playing with his toy soldiers across the floor, with no understanding of the battle other than the one he played in his head. No more.

 

The Easterling Confederacy had their chance at peace and wasted it as they had laid waste to Lebethron.

 

Even if a king had to die to prevent it, no enemy army was going to claim Lossarnach as their prize.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Aragorn’s first duty upon arriving in Lossarnach was to sent scouts away from the vale to find the exact whereabouts of the Haradrim force that could not be more than a few days away from Lossarnach by this point in time.  Owing to the secrecy of the invasion force reported by Haldor, Aragorn surmised that the army was moving by night and taking shelter during the day. Fortunately, travel across the river ensured that the Haradrim were unable to bring their fearsome mumakils. Unfortunately, Aragorn could not discount the possibility that the threat existed. The beasts had destroyed Lebethron. While it did not seem possible that the Easterling army could have journeyed across land swiftly enough to join their Haradrim allies, Aragorn was not about to take such a gamble when the stakes were so high.

 

Messengers were also sent to Minas Tirith, ordering the remaining troops in the city to make immediately for Lossarnach. Though the complement remaining in the White City was not nearly enough to defeat the invasion force that Handor had described, the reinforcements to Lossarnach meagre defences would aid in keeping the Haradrim at bay until Faramir arrived with the rest of Gondor’s army.  After the death of Forlong the Fat, a lesser relative had been given stewardship of the city. The young man, named Fernreg, had been more than equal to the task but his interest had been in rebuilding the city rather than replenishing the ranks of militia that had been lost during the defence of Minas Tirith and the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

 

Lossarnach had always been a place for vacationing nobles. Situated in a valley surrounded by the White Mountains, Lossarnach was known for its breathtaking landscapes. Its countryside was filled with the castles and summer residences of Gondor’s high born and it was even claimed that Denethor and his young bride Finduilas had spent their honeymoon in Lossarnach.  However, aside from its aesthetic beauty, the protection of the White Mountains around Lossarnach ensured that it was protected from turbulent weather, an advantage that brought great harvests of wheat and corn to the region. Lossarnach was responsible for the production of much of the grain that was exported to Minas Tirith.

 

Aragorn sensed that it was for this reason that the Haradrim wanted to take the city. If they succeeded in conquering Lossarnach, the enemy would not only have a suitable platform to launch an assault upon the White City and the rest of Gondor but also enough food to feed its army for an indefinite occupation. With this in mind, there was a desperate measure he could resort to if they were unable to hold Lossarnach and Aragorn prayed it would not come to that. In fact, he meant to see that they did everything possible to keep from being driven to that course of action.

 

Once the scouts and messengers were sent on their way, Aragorn ordered the immediate evacuation of women and children out of the city. A handful of armed soldiers ensured that their exodus to Minas Tirith where they would remain until the danger had passed.  After seeing what the Haradrim had done to the women and children of Lebethron, the king of Gondor was taking no chances with his people’s lives. Despite the lack of a fully trained army, Lossarnach did possess some local militia and though these men spent most of their time as farmers, when the call to arms came, they did not hesitate to step forward in the defence of king and country. 

 

Fortifying the city became the work of Lossarnach as every conceivable way of protecting itself was found and exploited. Walls were quickly built, traps were laid, and moats and trenches were dug. Every man who could carry a weapon and who knew some battle was enlisted into the cause, not even Fenreg would be spared being blooded in the coming conflict.  No more than three days had passed before the first of the scouts returned and brought the inevitable news.

 

The Haradrim army was less than two days away.

 

Gondor’s army at Ithilien would not be able to reach Lossarnach in that time and Aragorn was faced with the grim prospect that Lossarnach would some how have to prevail until Faramir arrived. It appeared that a siege was inevitable.

 

Worse news soon arrived from Rohan as such things often did when times were particularly trying. King Eomer was facing difficulties of his own and would not be able to assist them any further than what he had already provided in the way of Rohirrim cavalry that were coming from Ithilien with Faramir. It appeared the King of Rohan was missing after travelling to rendezvous with Bowen, the Marshall of Riddermark. Edoras had not heard anything of him since he left and there were fears that he might have come to harm.

 

As much as Aragorn wanted to help find his friend, he could not leave Lossarnach and prayed that Eomer was capable of extricating himself from his difficulties on his own.

* * *

 

 

As Aragorn continued the labour of preparing Lossarnach for the coming conflict with the aid of his friends, the final member of his company who was riding hard towards Emyn Arnen with his own task to fulfil. Faramir was painfully aware of vital it was for him to bring Gondor’s army to Lossarnach with as much haste as humanly possible.  Being a son of Denethor, Faramir was possibly in a better position to appreciate the danger that a Haradrim invasion could present to Gondor.  Lossnarch’s position near the heart of Gondor, Minas Tirith, had the potential to be a large a morale disaster as well as military one if the Haradrim were allowed to take it.

 

Like Aragorn, he had only paused in his journey to give his horse rest because he could not afford to waste any time in reaching Emyn Arnen. There would not even be enough time for him to see Eowyn but Faramir knew she would understand. Faramir wondered as he rode home whether or not they had come to rely too much on the Rangers. He had always admired Aragorn because the king was not merely a warrior but a thinker who valued intelligence above his instincts. It was easy how that asset could be circumvented into a weakness because they had no idea what the enemy intended to do.  The Haradrim was making its approach from the west, not the east as previously thought and the Easterling who had brought about Lebethron’s ruin was nowhere to be found. He knew that during the journey to Lossarnach, this had concerned Aragorn greatly.

 

There were reports of so many enemies joining the Easterling Confederacy and Faramir suspected they were facing a war that may not end in a matter of weeks but  _months_.  The Corsairs were undoubtedly responsible for the Haradrim incursion up the Sirith and there were so many other disaffected voices beyond the borders of the Reunified Kingdom and the lands of its allies who gladly see Gondor fall. Faramir was almost two days away from Emyn Arnen when he saw in the distance a sight that filled with his heart with gratitude that they had left Prince Imrahil at Ithilien when Aragorn and he had chosen to inspect the destruction of Lebethron.

 

The Lord of Dol Amroth was leading the march with the Rohirrim cavalry provided by Eomer and the bulk of Gondor’s forces stationed at Ithilien, no doubt having received the same message that had sent Aragorn and the rest of the company riding to Lossarnach.  Imrahil was not one to wait until orders arrived, he knew his king well enough to act on his behalf and that knowledge told him that time was of the essence. Once Aragorn received the message delivered to him by the elves of Eden Ardhon, the king would be making his way to claim his army. Imrahil knew that he would be saving valuable time if he could meet Aragorn part of the way.

 

“Where is the king?” Imrahil asked once Faramir had returned to their ranks.

 

“On his way to Lossarnach,” Faramir explained, “he has gone to fortify the city before our arrival.”

 

“Was that wise?” The lord of Dol Amroth stared at Faramir, unable to hide his anxiousness at this.

 

“Wise has little to do with the king’s actions,” Faramir retorted scowling, “someone has to warn Lossarnach and you know him, he will not ask of anyone what he is unwilling to do himself.”

 

Imrahil frowned unhappily, “there are times when I wished he was not so damned mindful of his people and take precautions against his own life.”

 

“I think that accounts for why the people love him so,” Faramir replied and though he did not mention that those people included himself and Imrahil, it was without question the truth for both of them.

 

“I do not know how much he will be able to do at Lossarnach, that boy Fenreg has little in the way of military experience and has spent scant time protecting the city,” Imrahil returned.

 

“There was no need,” Faramir shrugged, seeing no fault in Fenreg who was a likeable enough ruler. “He assumed as did most of the smaller fiefdoms that Gondor would be able to protect them. No one suspected that the enemy would come from the Sirith.”

 

“I suppose,” Imrahil looked away and Faramir knew his distant relative enough to see that there was something more than their current situation preying upon his thoughts.

 

“Imrahil,” Faramir urged. “What is it?”

 

“I have heard troubling news from Rohan,” Imrahil confessed after a brief pause. The older man looked annoyed that his fears showed. “It appears that Eomer has gone missing in battle.”

 

“Missing?” The Prince of Ithilien exclaimed, fearful for his brother in law’s life and how his wife would take the news if he were lost. “Does Eowyn know?”

 

“No,” Imrahil shook his head. “The intelligence came to me first and I saw no reason to trouble her until we were certain that missing meant dead.  Also if I were to let it known that their king was in difficulty, the Rohirrim cavalry might choose to ride home and we cannot afford their loss at this time.”

 

Faramir did not know if that was the most ethical thing to do but he kept counsel to himself because he could not deny that they needed the cavalry’s speed in reaching Lossarnach. Faramir was planning to lead the cavalry ahead to Lossarnach, leaving the foot soldiers to Imrahil who would follow behind them. Aragorn needed all the support that was available to hold Lossarnach before the arrival of those troops. Even if the Rohirrim were to return to Rohan now, they would never reach their king in enough time to be of any use to him and Faramir had faith in Eomer’s ability to survive.

 

“I should have brought Lothiriel home,” Imrahil said worriedly. “I was so pleased that she had actually taken a liking to Eomer that I did not consider the risk to her life.”

 

“Imrahil,” Faramir placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, “Lothiriel is far more capable than you know as she has proved during that business with the shape shifters and I doubt the Dunlendings tribes even with Easterling aid is capable of taking the Golden Hall”

 

“I hope you are right,” Imrahil replied, “I do not want to lose my child when her life is just beginning.”

 

As much as Faramir tried to sympathize with Imrahil, he was more concerned over Eomer’s fate and how Eowyn would endure it if she learnt that her brother was dead.

 

* * *

 

  
Legolas stared across the plain.

 

Behind him was Lossarnach. The sun was setting and while it would seem prudent that the enemy wait for morning to attack, there was going to be no such delay. They had been waiting for this inevitable approach for the last hour, ensuring that all was in readiness. Next to him Aragorn stood with Anduril unsheathed like a banner to be carried into battle. Gimli stood on the other side, axe brandished. The initial line of defence would fall to the archers and Legolas felt the weight of many arrows upon his back. His gaze shifted briefly to Nunaur who also poised to attack, as was Endornórë and the other elves that had journeyed with him to Eden Ardhon.

 

If he fell tonight, he hoped Melia would understand that he could not sit by and watch Aragorn face this conflict alone. Whether or not this action brought the elven nation to war, he could not say for certain. He had brought no army to Lossarnach so it could not be seen as ending his neutrality if only a handful of elves stood with Aragorn during this battle.  In either case, he was not leaving until this battle reached its end, no matter how terrible those consequences must be. It was good that his wife was a warrior in herself for she understood the realities of war and the battles that must be fought for the good of all.  If he fell today, she would mourn his loss not berate his sacrifice.

 

There was only silence but the elves could hear the approach, Aragorn was certain of it. The scouts had returned a short time ago; bringing the news that Haradrim army had paused long enough to establish their encampment but appeared hungry for battle. He had estimated correctly that the enemy would not wait until sunrise and had issued the call to arms.  The militia were perched on Lossarnach’s high walls. The reinforcements that had come to the king’s aid from Gondor took the field with him before the city. All across Lossarnach, people awaited with abated breath for the attack to come.

 

Aragorn saw Legolas tensing his grip around his bow, the one given to him by Galadriel during the quest of the Ring. Further along, Nunaur’s eyes narrowed and the posture of the other elves seemed to straighten instinctively, their gazes’ fixed front without wavering. Their disposition was noted by the men standing with them and taken as a prelude to the enemy’s appearance. Aragorn stared ahead at the plain and saw nothing but dark horizon flanked by the jagged teeth of the White Mountains.

 

“This game you two play,” Aragorn found himself asking, breaking the silence, “is it only orcs or all races that make up the count?”

 

“We are not indiscriminate,” Legolas remarked still facing front but his lips curled into a little smile as he spoke.

 

“If I am to play, I must insist that we keep the count confined to this battle,” Aragorn retorted. “Otherwise I will not be able to match you or Gimli’s tally.”

 

“Match mine I think,” Gimli snorted with just as much amusement. “I believe at last count, I was winning.”

 

“I beg to differ,” Legolas returned.

 

“Gentlemen,” Aragorn said as the Haradrim appeared over the horizon for the first time. “The game has begun.”


	5. The Siege of Lossarnach

Across the walls of Lossarnach, torches breathed in flame burned liked beacons through the night.  The crescent moon long since become a full orb, stared down across the plain with its starry glow. With the twilight sky filled with stars, it could have been considered a beautiful night if not for the rumble of armies preparing to converge in the inevitable slaughter of battle. The militia stared and watched, their hearts pounding with fear for these were men, until a matter of days ago, were concerned largely with ordinary things like harvests, crops and family. The notion of war and battles were as distant as the stars themselves.

 

And yet now they stood on the walls of the city, each with they own tasks, each terrified beyond their ability to express it despite their willingness to participate in the defence of Lossarnach. A man could not be a man if he walked away when his king asked his help, especially when that king was Aragorn Elessar. The men who stood ready to fight this night were so committed to the cause as if Aragorn had spoken to each of them personally and begged their aid in holding Lossarnach from their enemies. The spirit of a warrior had been drawn reluctantly from deep inside of them and now the hour in which they would either live a long life or die tonight was finally at hand.

 

The Haradrim covered the plain like a swarm of insects. Their advance across the plain was slow at first, as if the delay would allow them to gauge the strength of the defenders until it was time to charge.  The plain before them was almost completely covered and it chilled the blood when one could not discern if it was so because of the darkness or because the enemy’s numbers were so great where one ended and the other began.  From the walls surrounding Lossarnach, the army of the defenders seemed almost paltry in comparison to the invaders moving across the field like a great tide.

 

Archers stood poised and ready, both on the walls of the city as well as the battle field below. When the time came for the latter to retreat, it was the former that would cover their withdrawal safely, if such a thing were possible in circumstances such as this. That Lossarnach was mostly enclosed by the White Mountains was its greatest defence. There was but only one direction, which the Haradrim could invade, which was another reason why their march to Lossarnach was made with utmost secrecy. Despite the loss of this advantage at the knowledge of their impending arrival, their numbers were great enough to overcome it.

 

Beneath the faint glimmer of moonlight, Aragorn could see the tall red banners of the Haradrim flying in the slight breeze. The black serpent appeared briefly under this light and it was a sight that returned Aragorn immediately to the battlefields of Pelennor, where he had last beheld the sight. The Haradrim were fierce warriors and like the Orcs, gave no quarter to their enemies in battle. They swept forward like a scourge, warriors dressed in bronzed plates of armour, their black hair plaited in gold and their faces smeared with paint, almost like blood.  Their helmets were spiked, much like the spears and the pikes they carried. The sharp points of these weapons were like a bed of nails moving across the land, flying high with banners of the black of serpent.

 

The defenders of Lossarnach showed no fear but none were foolish enough to deny feeling it. Fear was a healthy thing, it would provide them with enough edge to stay alive and at all costs, they had to live for as long as they could, until Faramir arrived with Gondor’s army. Aragorn saw the distance between the two enemies narrowing and knew that any moment now, the order to charge would be given and this interlude where the two forces were given leave to scrutinize each other would end.

 

“Archers!” Aragorn cried out, his gaze never leaving the nearing enemy. “Make ready!”

The Haradrim were so close that Aragorn could now see their faces and the dark eyes filled with so much black hatred and cruelty fixing upon the defenders with hungry demand. Aragorn held Anduril before him, the sword that cut the ring from Sauron’s hand acting as his own banner and one that held more meaning to his men than any banner could ever manage. 

 

The Haradrim were also preparing for the onslaught of arrows as their front line warriors angled their spears into a deadly phalanx of steel to protect themselves. The only way through them, Aragorn realised, as the wall of pikes and spears approached, was to attack when they were very close. Unfortunately, Aragorn could not count all the archers of having the skill of Legolas and the elves, but this course left them very little room to manoeuvre if not enough of the front line was killed.

 

“Aragorn!” Legolas barked as the distance became savagely close. “It must be now!”

 

Aragorn knew that but he had hoped to give the archers a little more advantage. Unfortunately, Legolas was right. They had allowed the Haradrim as much distance as they dared. Any closer and it may not be possibly to escape when the time came for the inevitable retreat. Aragorn did not answer the lord of Eden Ardhon but instead continued to stare ahead at the juggernaut rumbling towards them. It was a sight that would make men or break them and he felt a swell of pride knowing that those fighting with him were holding their ground despite their fear.

 

“NOW!” He gave the order at last.

 

A wall of arrows almost as deadly as the approaching phalanx flew through the air with the release of bowstrings from every archer in the line.  The phalanx began to waver as the arrows cut down a good number of Haradrim who were leading the charge, their spears quivering in their grip and some tumbling into the dirt along with their dead masters. The bodies that felt to the ground provided suitable obstruction for the warriors following closely behind. Some trampled over their dead and others were brought down by the obstacles as another barrage of arrows was released and rained death upon them.

  
The phalanx crumbled effectively enough for the defenders to attack without fear of being unable to escape the wall of sharp steel. The archers were firing at will now that the space between the two armies had narrowed so much that very soon they would be meeting each other. However, as even that narrow margin disappeared, the archers were giving up their bows for swords and daggers. Legolas had produced his twin blades, while Gimli’s axe awaited the first taste of blood. Aragorn held Anduril’s point to the sky in an almost reverential gesture to the enemy before the fighting truly began.

 

The two armies slammed into each other like the smashing of waves against the rocks. The earth beneath them seemed to shudder as each roared with their own war cry and the sound of voices was drowned in the harsher noise of steel meeting steel. From the walls of Lossarnach, the militia watched in rising anxiety, as their comrades appeared overwhelmed by the Haradrim horde that was swirling around them.

 

Aragorn lost sight of Legolas and Gimli almost immediately after the two armies had converged on the field. There was little time to seek them out because he was soon fighting to stay alive. He had not dispensed with the garments he had worn when he rode to meet Legolas at Lebethron and was rightly mistaken for being just another warrior, not the king of Gondor. The only thing that could give away his identity was Anduril but Aragorn knew that in the heat of battle, no one would be paying close attention to his sword, only how he wielded it.

 

How he wielded it was to fight as if he were a Ranger of the wilds, not a king. He swung his blade at Haradrim warrior swinging a curved sword at him, scimitars, he believed they were called and sent the enemy staggering backward. The Haradrim fought with brute force, this much Aragorn had remembered about his enemy from his experiences at Pelennor, there was very little finesse to their combat.

 

His present opponent recovered quickly and used the curve of the blade to swing a powerful blow at Aragorn. Anduril took the brunt of the strike easily and parried skilfully before executing a sharp riposte. As the Haradrim stumbled backwards, Aragorn saw another approaching behind him to aid his comrade. Aragorn turned his body long enough to spear the man in the dead centre, halting his progress in one deadly strike. The warrior fell as Aragorn extracted his weapon and swung to meet his other opponent’s attack. As their blades met once more, Aragorn forced the enemy backward in a powerful shove and took advantages of his loss of balance to strike. Aragorn slashed Anduril across his chest and then across tore out his throat in quick succession.  The Haradrim sank to his knees but Aragorn did not need to see to know he was done for.

 

From the corner of his vision, he could see another rushing at him. The king turned around in time to avoid being speared by a vicious looking spike. The Haradrim that would have impaled him was determined to have him however and Aragorn knew it would take more than swordplay to stop him. While trying to evade the sharp stabs the warrior was attempting to pin him with, Aragorn reached for the dagger at secreted in his booth and swung it as the Haradrim came at him again. The weapon buried itself deep in the enemy’s skull and Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief as the pike fell away from his grip. What respite he gained from this victory was temporary because he had only to look up to see more waiting to take his opponent’s place.

 

Searching for Legolas and Gimli, Aragorn could see nothing of his friends though he caught sight Eden Ardhon’s captain, Nunaur who was moving with the grace only the Eldar were capable. The elf was apparently a good deal better with a sword than he was with an arrow and it was evident in the bodies at his feet as he battled the Haradrim with something almost akin to relish. As Aragorn found himself facing another combatant, the king supposed that the elves were not that different from men in that even they were affected by the heat of battle.

 

* * *

 

The enemy apparently considered elves a great threat for Legolas found himself surrounded as the two armies met and the more personal business of combat superseded the indifference of arrows and pikes. A trio of Haradrim converged upon the elf armed with spears, scimitars and daggers glared at the elf in open hatred, preparing to rush him at once. Legolas allowed them to make the first move, unwilling to engage in haste. He had faced far more terrifying beasts of evil in his time so it took a great deal to unnerve him and he had also learned the virtue of patience and allowing the enemy to strike first

 

He did not have long to wait.

 

The first, carrying a spike rushed at Legolas and as he stepped out of its cruel path, the second swung his scimitar at the prince. Legolas used both of his short swords to deflect the blow and kicked out with one foot, forcing the Haradrim swordsman back. The third lashed at him with his dagger, his blade tearing elven skin across Legolas bicep. The intent was to injure but succeeded only in provoking the elf’s anger who swung out one of his swords in a sharp swing that sliced open the man’s throat. Legolas used the momentum of the swing to spin around as the Haradrim swordsman, recovered from the initial attack attempted another strike.

 

Legolas halted the path of the curved blade with one of his swords, made of elven craft and forged steel far denser than anything men could produce. The heavy scimitar, requiring two hands to wield it, was stayed in mid air as Legolas, who only needed one hand to hold each of his swords, used the other to spear the Haradrim soldier through the chest. Blood spurted out of his mouth, forced there by his ruined heart.  Legolas pulled back, confident that he provided no danger and having the last of the trio to deal with. As the thought formed into an action, the prince saw the Haradrim running at him, his spear jutting ahead. Legolas put away both his sword because it was not swordplay that was needed now.

 

“I will wear your pretty hair on my scalp, elf,” the Haradrim troop hissed. He spoke in his native tongue but Legolas had lived long enough to understand some of it.

 

He jab the spear at Legolas in a sharp thrust, which the elf was able to side step easily before clenching his fist around the wood as his opponent pulled back the weapon for another attempt. Legolas tore the spear out of the Haradrim’s grip with both hands and kicked out his foot, first against the back of his knee to bring him down and then against the chest to land him flat on his back. No sooner than the enemy had landed, Legolas swung the spear in his hands with a neat arc and impaled the soldier through the chest with his own weapon. The body beneath him jerked spasmodically as a spray of blood splattered across Legolas’ tunic.

 

“Pretty indeed,” Legolas muttered under his breath as he retrieved his swords and prepared to face more enemies.

* * *

 

While he had fought them before, Gimli wondered why these Haradrim could not channel their aggressive strength with some precision. Though they were fierce warriors, they relied too heavily upon brute force and knew nothing about skilful battle. It was far different for warriors of Gondor, as he had learnt from Boromir and later Faramir. In Gondor, skill was as important as strength. Boromir who had been a formidable man physically had used his size to enhance his skill on the battlefield and had been a most fearsome opponent on the field. Even when he had fallen at Parth Galen, he had done so ensuring that numerous Uruk Hai had died first.

 

The skill of the Gondorian warriors showed as the pitched battle around Gimli continued with more and more bodies littering the ground. Fortunately, he was relieved to say that most of these fallen appeared to be Haradrim although this might simply be because there were more of the enemy then there were of the defenders. Gimli himself had been responsible for more than a few of the corpses being trampled underfoot by those who continued to fight. The blade of the dwarf’s axe was stained with blood as once again, size proved to be little hindrance to his ability to hold his own in any battle.

 

A Haradrim warrior came at him, once again Gimli saw the same look of derision as if a dwarf was a lesser opponent. Gimli shirked off the insult because he knew that it would be to his advantage and was proven correct when the enemy came at him recklessly, swinging his blade over his head towards the dwarf, leaving himself wide open for attack. Gimli rushed forward, swinging his axe with just as much power only his hastened pace allowed him to escape the reach of the sword bearing down on him. Before the blade could be lowered any further, Gimli had planted his axe firmly in the stomach of the enemy. The sword fell harmlessly to the ground as the Haradrim warrior doubled over in agony, blood gushing from the fatal found.

 

Gimli pulled his weapon out of his opponent and saw another eager to finish what his soon to be dead comrade had been unable to accomplish.   Unfortunately, this enemy was not as presumptuous as the other and when he attacked, he did so with care because he had seen how swiftly Gimli had dealt with his predecessor. The long pike he carried came rushing at Gimli who had to drop to his fours to avoid being speared. The dwarf scrambled across the dirt for a short distance and quickly leapt to his feet as the Haradrim warrior spun around to resume his attack. Gimli stood his ground with his axe bared, waiting for the right moment to strike. The enemy, angered by his audacity to hold his position, hastened his pace and as Gimli saw the sharp spike coming towards him, prayed that his gamble would succeed.

 

Within inches of the sharp point, Gimli moved out of the way enough to ensure the Haradrim enemy could not turn around with coming to an abrupt halt that would throw him off balance. As the length of wood moved past him, Gimli brought down his axe upon the weapon and snapped it cleanly in half. Haradrim weapons were no match for a dwarf axe and the spike gave way easily. As its master tried to regain control of the situation, Gimli swept his axe in a mighty blow that drove the air from the enemy’s lungs as well as the life from his body.  Letting out a breath as the Hardrim died at his feet, Gimli looked across the battlefield and saw the endless sea of Haradrim and knew that it would not be long before Aragorn would have to call the retreat to the city walls.

 

As it was, he could not see any of his comrades amidst the fighting but knew that all were too hardy to do anything as inconvenient as getting themselves killed after surviving enemies such as Saruman, the dark elf Eol and especially Sauron.  Suddenly his senses came alive with alarm and Gimli turned around to see a towering shadow above him. Appearing to Gimli almost as tall as a troll, the warrior of the Sunlands looked down upon the dwarf with his dark eyes and his even darker skin. There was a split second of time when Gimli felt for the first time in his life, terribly small. However, a split second was all the time he had before the great hand of the enemy swatted him aside like a fly. 

 

Not since he was running for his life at the hands of the cave troll had he been flung away like a child. He landed hard on the ground, shoulder first. The side of his body ached in pain but he was allowed no time to dwell on the pain when he saw that towering shape before him again. He saw against the sky, the enemy’s sword preparing to strike and rolled out of the way as it came down with a swoosh of air in the place where he had just been. The blade embedded itself in the dirt as Gimli struggled to his feet and struck out wildly, his axe slicing into the dark warrior’s thigh. The enemy cried out in pain and then brought down his fist against the dwarf’s back, forcing Gimli into the dirt once more.

 

Gimli felt the pain flare throughout his spine and made his legs difficult to move, however, knowing his life depended on it, he rolled over once more and saw the enemy preparing to bring down his sword again. This time, there was no time to move and all Gimli could do was block the blade against his axe and hoped that his underestimation of Haradrim’s weaponry was not mistaken. The axe did not yield under the steel of the sword but the power behind it almost made Gimli come undone. The warrior grinned at him, pulling back a revelation of white teeth, a contrast of colour against the dark lips.

 

“You fight well little one,” the Haradrim spoke Westron in a soft hiss of a voice. “But this contest is done. I had hoped to meet my equal but one of his companions will do as well.”

 

“Little one!” Gimli brought up his foot and kicked hard in the one place that no man could call himself truly protected, thought it was an unspoken thing among men that it was not a place to assault in civilised combat. Unfortunately, Gimli had a greater affection for his skin then anyone rules of chivalry.

 

The warrior of the Sunlands groaned painfully as he doubled over in pain and Gimli pushed him off forcefully. Fired by anger and the sensation of his mortality, Gimli prepared to cleave the enemy’s skull apart.  However, the dark warrior seemed to recover quickly, more so then Gimli would have given him credit and raised his sword to block the strike, albeit rather weakly.  Unfortunately, it did not appear as if he would have the chance to deliver another for suddenly he heard the cry of another warrior rushing blindly into the path of his weapon and taking the blow meant for the enemy on the ground.  In surprise, Gimli saw the man’s chest as the blade met skin and turned blood and bone into pulp under the crushing power of a dwarf axe.

 

For a moment, Gimli was stunned at the sacrifice the other had made and when he looked again for the dark warrior that had almost taken his life, the dwarf saw that he had disappeared.

* * *

 

Aragorn looked around him and saw more and more Haradrim troops crossing over the lines, spilling towards the walls of Lossarnach. The battle was going to invade the city, there was no doubt of that but Aragorn could control how many were left by the time they had to quit the walls.  Reaching for the horn at his belt, he knew the remaining forces that still lived had t retreat into the city. He did not know how many of their number had been lost because the ground was covered with bodies and death granted men a certain anonymity, however, he knew that they could not linger here to be overrun by the Haradrim who had brought with them a sizeable force.

 

Lifting the horn to his lips, he blew loudly into it. The sound moving across the air like a banshee’s wail as a signal to those who had been waiting with anticipation as they battled for their lives, to quit the combat currently engaged and make for the Lossarnach’s walls.  The signal was not just to those on the battlefield with him but also to those who were presently manning the walls, who had their own tasks to fulfil once the call for retreat came.  Aragorn sounded the signal again, to ensure everyone heard it before he turned on his heels and began running towards the wall where some Haradrim were already going. The retreating defenders, ensuring that they would be the only ones scaling the walls of Lossarnach, were cutting them down.

 

As he was running towards the wall, Aragorn saw Fenreg’s body in the ground and felt a surge of grief for the young man who had worked so hard to defend his city the past few days. There was not even enough time to retrieve the body since there was only a narrow margin of time to reach the wall before the archers waiting there did their work.  If anyone of them survived the night then there would be plenty of time for burials, however, the business at hand was to ensure that they saw sunrise when it finally arrived. Aragorn searched the faces sweeping past him and saw Nunaur making his way across the field with Legolas. Both elves were clearly marked by battle but did not appear seriously injured.

 

Aragorn saw the ladders leading to the top of the wall and the Haradrim that were being assaulted with arrows and spears by those who guarding it.  Even if the signal for the archer’s next wave had yet to be given, a number of them had taken the initiative to ensure that none of the Haradrim who penetrated the defenders lines could reach the ladders.  Those who were not struck down were retracing their steps, trying to reach their brethren to take comfort in the strength of numbers. One of them swept towards Aragorn, swinging their scimitar as they ran forward.

 

Aragorn met the blade with his own and made swift work of the enemy when he tore the sword from his opponent’s hand and ran him through with Anduril. He did not even pause in his advance to the wall and saw Gimli not far away. The dwarf was clutching his arm and Aragorn averted his course to join his friend.

 

“You are hurt,” Aragorn declared upon reaching Gimli who had reached the base of the wall.

 

“I will live,” the dwarf grunted. “It is good to see that you are in one piece.”

 

“There are those wished I was not, that is for sure.” Aragorn said quickly as he looked over his shoulder and saw the Haradrim in close pursuit.  The defenders would not be able to make good their escape unless the Haradrim were delayed and with that realisation, Aragorn took to the horn once again and delivered the second signal that was meant entirely for the archers perched on the wall. No sooner than the baying noise filled everyone’s ears, did the sky become filled with arrows flying towards the Haradrim forces rushing against the wall like an ocean swell.

 

“You first my friend,” Aragorn ushered Gimli up the ladder as he looked behind him and saw the arrows raining death upon the Haradrim in pursuit.

 

“You are king,” Gimli grumbled, never one to make any discussion simple. “It should be you.”

 

“I do not have time to argue with you Master Dwarf,” Aragorn retorted and pushed Gimli up the rung. “Get moving!”

 

Gimli muttered something in his native tongue, which Aragorn was certain he should not repeat in polite company. However, the proud dwarf had nevertheless succumbed to his insistence and had begun scaling the ladder. His progress soon indicated to the former Ranger that Aragorn had been right to insist that Gimli went first. He was struggling hard to maintain a grip and Aragorn suspected that the injury to his shoulder was worse than Gimli would admit too. Unfortunately, Aragorn’s healer’s instincts would have to wait for the moment. He sheathed Anduril and began his own journey up the ladder, glancing anxiously over his shoulder to gauge the progress of the Haradrim advance.

 

Finally Aragorn reached the top and found that there were others soldiers behind him and was grateful that the barrage of arrows was giving them precious time reach the top. Unfortunately, the Haradrim were quickly proving that Lossarnach’s defenders were not the only ones who knew how to make good use of their archers. As Aragorn saw a battle line form in the distance, he was suddenly shouting on top of his lungs for anyone on the ground to hasten their pace because time was swiftly running out.

 

“Archers!” Aragorn shouted, trying to capture their attention through the pandemonium. “Direct yourselves at the enemy line. They are preparing to shoot down our warriors.”

 

By now Legolas and Nunuar were already on the wall and the elves’ first duty had been to acquire more arrows in order to join the throng of bowmen firing with all the skill they could muster at the enemy below.  Aragorn was uncertain as to what had become of the other elves that had chosen to join Legolas in the business of protecting Lossarnach but hoped they had not come to harm for this was never their fight to begin with. It was their loyalty to Legolas and Legolas’ loyalty to him that had placed the elves in this dangerous position.

 

“Let see your arm?” Aragorn asked Gimli once they were on top of the wall.

 

Gimli was trying hard to hide the pain of his injury but Aragorn could see by the way his arm was hanging limply at his side and the grip that was barely managing to keep a hold of his axe that it was overwhelming him.

“You do not have time to nursemaid me Aragorn,” Gimli replied, loathing his weakness.

 

“No I do not,” Aragorn said abruptly and relieved him of his axe, “but I do not need to lose another warrior when we have so few to spare, so let me look at your arm and that consider that a command instead of a request.”

 

“You do not have leave to command me Aragorn,” Gimli retorted but his will to argue was half hearted.

 

“Fine, consider it a threat then,” Aragorn declared and grabbed Gimli’s shoulder before snapping it into place and extracting a loud curse from the dwarf.  Gimli’s teeth were gnashing by the time Aragorn was finished with him but the initial pain and the unpleasant sensation of bone against bone soon subsided into a dull throb that was somewhat manageable.

 

“Better?” Aragorn stared at him as Gimli moved his shoulder and was surprised by how much  _less_  it hurt.

 

“Considerably,” Gimli said still becoming accustomed to the fact that he was no longer in excruciating pain. “What did you do?”

 

“Dislocated shoulder,” Aragorn remarked. “I merely slipped it back into place.”

 

“Thank you,” Gimli nodded, retrieving his sword before he stared sharply at Aragorn. “The one who did this to me, he called you his equal. At the time, I thought he meant swordsmen but whilst I battled him, there was a moment when I almost had him. He escaped when another threw himself before my axe to prevent it. Aragorn, I think he might have been their leader.”

 

Aragorn thought quickly and looked down into the Haradrim being cut down by the arrows although there were not enough bowmen to prevent all of them from advancing towards the wall.  He thought of the elusive leader of the Easterling Confederacy whose identity was a closely guarded secret that none of his Rangers had been able to learn.  Was his nemesis down there, commanding this army as he was commanding the defenders of Lossarnach?

 

“Would you recognise him if you saw him again?” Aragorn asked quickly.

 

“I would but only because he is difficult to miss. He is not a man of Harad or Far Harad. I think he comes from the Sunlands.”

 

“The Sunlands?” Aragorn exclaimed. “You mean like Melia?”

 

“Melia is not pure blooded,” the dwarf answered shaking his head. “This warrior was. He was tall and big. His skin was much darker than Melia’s almost black like his eyes. He swept me aside as if I were a child and he was disappointed that he was not fighting you, Aragorn.”

 

“That moment will come soon enough,” Aragorn said coldly, trying to find his nemesis in the invaders below and knew that their confrontation would have to wait. At present, the game this unseen commander had set in motion was still in play and Lossarnach still had a long night ahead of it.

* * *

Legolas armed his bow and struck down a Haradrim clambering up the ladder, attempting to reach the walls of Lossarnach with the rest of his comrades. The arrow speared him through the chest and Legolas barely noticed his fall because the elven lord was already reaching for another arrow. As another Haradrim hurried up the ladder to take his place, Legolas removed him just as swiftly and continued to do so until there were no more.  The other archers were also doing the same though they were not blessed his speed and some of the Haradrim warriors were managing to reach the top of the wall.  Fortunately, the militia by way of swords, spears and even boiling oil quickly vanquished these. 

  
It continued for hours, this business of keeping the wall clear of the enemy. Bowmen fired an inexhaustible supply of arrows into the advancing enemy while others employed more direct methods. The bodies of Haradrim were beginning to pile the base of the walls for as far as the eyes could see but they continued to come, relentless and possessed. Legolas could feel his own limbs become heavy as he saw the dogged determination of Lossarnach’s defenders, forcing themselves to keep fighting despite their exhaustion and lack of sleep.  Through sheer force of will, they continued to hold the wall against the invaders and Legolas could not help but admire the beauty of all that proud determination.

 

Leading this display of triumph despite their adverse situation was the king of Gondor, who himself stood on the front line, who did not leave the wall and fought just as hard, even harder some might say, to ensure that they were not overcome by the Haradrim. It was Aragorn’s voice that kept up the morale of his people and it reminded Legolas of the days after the Battle of Pelennor when the word had swept through Minas Tirith that the king had returned. It was a marvellous thing to see hope come alive on the faces of those who had been without it for so long.  It was that faith in their king that kept the defenders of Lossarnach fighting even though it seemed like the Haradrim’s numbers were endless.

 

Suddenly, with the first rays of sunlight filtering through the night sky, the advance along the wall ceased and suddenly the enemy was retreating. For a moment, Legolas considered that this could be a ruse designed to trick them but then a cry swept through the enemy ranks and the warriors that had been so determined to take the city began to withdraw. They left their dead where they were and moved slowly off the battlefield as if they were in little hurry to escape.  The warriors of Lossnarch looked upon the withdrawal in silence, uncertain that what they had achieved was a victory. In fact as they saw how many Haradrim were withdrawing, they were certain of it.

 

“This departure means nothing,” Nunaur who was a seasoned veteran of numerous wars remarked confidently as he watched the enemy disappear.

 

“I agree,” Legolas nodded. “I think this is a strategic withdrawal, not an admission of defeat.”

 

Aragorn had made his way across the length of the wall, his eyes still fixed ahead at the withdrawing enemy although he held no illusions as to why the Haradrim were departing.  For the first time since the onset of the battle, Aragorn was able to approach Legolas since the fighting had kept them apart. Although they captured glimpses of each other during the night, neither had been able to exchange words and the abrupt cessation of hostilities made Aragorn seek out the elves counsel.

 

“They are leaving to reconsider their strategy,” Aragorn announced when he reached Legolas and Nunaur.

 

“I believe so,” Legolas met Aragorn’s gaze and showed his agreement with the king’s assessment of the situation.  “They have probably discerned that they are wasting too many of their men in this attempt to scale the wall.”

 

“They will be back and most likely with some other plan to invade the city,” Nunaur added.

 

“We do not have much time,” Aragorn replied. “At best perhaps a few hours before they resume their assault and I am uncertain of what form it will come.”

 

“We managed to hold them off this long,” Legolas declared, hearing the weariness in Aragorn’s voice.  Sometimes it was easy to forget that even someone who was capable of bolstering the spirit of others in times of crisis could need the same words of hope. Aragorn was forcing himself to keep faith for the sake of his people but Legolas could see his doubts and fear of failing them was a great weight upon his shoulders.

 

“Gimli believes that the leader of the Easterling Confederacy may be leading this attack,” Aragorn announced, his gaze sweeping across the ranks of the departing Haradrim as if will alone could reveal the identify of his nemesis to him.

 

“Are you certain?” Legolas exclaimed, aware of how elusive that piece of information had been these past months since the declaration of war was made.

 

“The man he fought said that he wished to fight with his equal, but a companion of mine would do. He almost killed Gimli and when our friend almost took his life, one of the Haradrim soldiers sacrificed himself to prevent it.”

 

“Definitely a person of some importance,” Nunaur agreed. As the march warden of Eden Ardhon and the captain of Legolas’ warriors, he knew that it was a soldier’s duty to protect his lord and there was no question of his willingness to sacrifice his life if it meant achieving that end. “I think Master Gimli may be correct. It sounds like the behaviour of a soldier protecting his king.”

 

“He has proven himself to be a shrewd opponent,” Aragorn replied, still staring beyond the walls. “I fear what he may level at us when the Haradrim return.”

 

“And you have managed to hold Lossarnach when by all rights it should have fallen with the first wave of attacks,” Legolas reminded Aragorn. “Your words have turned farmers into warriors, willing to lay down their lives to protect their homes. Do not underestimate yourself.”

 

“Thank you my friend,” Aragorn offered Legolas a smile. “As stubborn as you are, I am glad that you are here. We could not have done this without your aid.”

 

“It is an honour to serve the Elfstone,” Nunaur replied without hesitation.

 

“And someone needs to see to it that your skin remains attached to your body,” Legolas replied with a smirk.

 

“Likewise,” Aragorn retorted. “I hope you do not have cause to regret this, Legolas.”

 

“I would regret it more if I did not aid you in your time of need Aragorn and my presence here is not any avocation of war. I am here as your friend and nothing more,” Legolas answered sincerely.

 

Aragorn did not answer but feared the Haradrim would not be able to make that distinction.

* * *

 

The dawn came with no sign of the Haradrim making their return. While some in Lossarnach were ready to leap to the conclusion that the enemy, discouraged by their vehement defence of the city, had left for good. However, the majority of Lossarnach’s defenders were grounded in reality and anticipated that an even more vicious attack was eminent.  In between catching a few hours rest before the arrival of the next onslaught, Aragorn ensured that they prepared as best they could for the coming melee.  While their comrades slept or worked, guards patrolled the walls, keeping a vigil at the first sight of danger. The dawn should have been a time of hope but for those inside the city, it was a limbo where they knew not what the twilight would bring.

 

Aragorn ensured that no one dwelt too heavily on the coming battle, occupying their thoughts instead with preparations to survive it.  He tried to think of what the enemy would do, having failed the initial incursion and was almost certain that a siege would soon follow. He did not doubt that they would again try to storm the city walls but they would do so ensuring that those within it were too preoccupied with other matters to stop them. Thus the business of protecting Lossarnach from these efforts became the main occupation of its defenders during the hours before the second attack. 

 

The interlude between battles was also time for them to tend to their injured.  Though it was dangerous to emerge from the safety of Lossarnach’s walls, the sight of their fallen brethren lying in the field was too much for many to endure and that kind of demoralising prior to any engagement was a dangerous thing. A small band of militia was given the task of retrieving Lossarnach’s dead.  Among these, was Fenreg, Steward of Lossarnach, who had fought valiantly until he was set upon a five Haradrim who assailed him with multiple injuries. His flesh was so mutilated that he was returned to his city walls with his body covered and as they were unaware of how long this siege would last, no proper burial could be afforded other than one in fire.

 

It was a grim duty but no more terrible than anything that awaited them when the Haradrim returned.

 

“You need to take some rest,” Legolas said to Aragorn after seeking him out in the house of healing. Legolas was certain that Aragorn was the only one who had yet to take some time to replenish his strength. The king had been busily directing the fortification efforts, ensuring that his men were not demoralized by making himself accessible to them and then aiding the healers in the healing room set aside for the injured.

 

“I am fine,” Aragorn said as he put the finishing touches on a wounded man’s bandage.

 

“You are not fine and this self flagellation does not aid your people,” the elf said firmly. “Even they worry for you.  They came to me when they realised how thick headed you were about listening to good advice.”

 

“ I always take your counsel,” Aragorn retorted straightening up from his seat next to his patient’s bed.

 

“Except when it pertains to your own well-being,” Legolas frowned. “Now you can come with me willingly or I will lay you flat now and you can sleep here.”

 

“You would not dare,” Aragorn challenged even though he knew that Legolas was serious.  “I am king you know.”

 

“And this matters to me how?” Legolas gave him a look.

 

“Good point,” Aragorn conceded defeat. “I will take your advice.”

 

“That is fortunate,” Legolas said satisfied. “It is good to know that I am able to move you with the proper amount of inducement.”

 

“Do not get ahead of yourself,” Aragorn remarked as they started out of the room. “The only elf I am afraid of is my wife and you are not as pretty as she, though I have heard it said…” he started so say with an expression of boyish mischief upon his face.

 

“Conclude that sentence and I will hurt you,” Legolas growled shortly.

 

Aragorn laughed shortly, glad that there was opportunity to do so despite their present circumstances. It was a good distraction from how much the odds were against them. Even as they spoke, he was certain that the enemy was somewhere, plotting a means to break through their defences and could succeed if reinforcements from Ithilien were delayed for any reason. They left the house of healing behind and stepped onto the walkway along the wall. Beyond the bodies of the dead Haradrim, the vale of Lossarnach still remained beautiful despite the violence that had been wrought within its confines only hours before.

 

“Strange how it remains so untouched,” Aragorn stared into the landscape.

 

“The land is the one constant in all things, Aragorn,” the Prince of Mirkwood remarked as he followed the man’s gaze.  “It outlives everything, even the elves. I have no doubt that in the past this vale has seen much bloodshed, wars that have been robbed their due in the histories and long after we are gone, there will be many to follow but the land will remain the same, unchanged and indifferent.”

 

“I wish they would stop for a little while,” Aragorn said softly, feeling deeply sad at the situation he now found himself with the people he cared for. “Is it so much to ask for Legolas, to have some peace?”

 

“For you I fear not,” the elf said with most honesty than Aragorn would prefer to hear. “You are the one to bring peace Aragorn. It will not come about without you and it is perfectly willing to wait for you. That is your fate and the hope of your people.”

 

“My mother often said that to me though she never had hope in her eyes when she spoke,” Aragorn replied. “I wonder what she would think of all this.”

 

“I think Gilraen would have been proud,” Legolas said gently, even though he was surprised to hear Aragorn speak of the lady.

 

Legolas himself had known Gilraen and she was a woman to be admired. Perhaps that is why Aragorn loved Arwen so for she possessed Gilraen’s nurturing strength.  Aragorn had been a young man when she died but Legolas remembered the day well. The youth he was, had stood there at the place where they had chosen to rest his mother’s worn body, staring at the monument of stone built to mark her passing. Legolas had remembered staring at this boy, destined to be a king and knew that he would be because he had kept his grief under control by sheer will. Will like that could move mountains or more precisely win a kingdom.

 

His face had been an impassive mask but the eyes, oh the eyes spoke such sorrow.

 

“I will never know,” Aragorn answered,  his gaze lost in the descending curtain of night.

 

Legolas waited for Aragorn to speak but the king remained silent, his eyes staring at the horizon with unflinching attention. The elf thought for a moment that this was a subject to difficult for the man to discuss and had decided to leave the subject alone when he followed Aragorn’s gaze and realised that the king’s preoccupation had little to do with the painful memories of his mother’s demise and everything to do with the arm that was making its way over the horizon to the walls of Lossarnach.

 

“They have returned,” he said softly, meeting Legolas’ eyes.

 

“You knew they would,” Legolas reminded, inwardly bracing himself for more bloodshed.

 

“I did,” Aragorn answered, “though I must confess, it took longer than I thought.”

 

An amazing transformation came over Aragorn then, one that Legolas never ceased to marvel at. The silent, introspective man he knew disappeared with a sudden straightening of posture and the release of a held breath. Legolas had seen it numerous times and had never seemed to lose the fascination of the metamorphosis, that first moment that he had dared to announce his lineage to Eomer on the trail of the Uruk Hai who had stolen away Merry and Pippin.   All traces of Strider vanished in place was Aragorn Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnadan and the High King of the Reunified Kingdom.  

 

“Come my friend,” Aragorn said firmly, very much in character now. “We will see what else they can throw at us.”

* * *

 

On the opposite corner of the White Mountains, the Rohirrim were also licking their wounds after being ambushed in the dark by the goblins of Moria. Eomer supposed that in the scheme of things, it was only logical that the Easterlings would approach the foul inhabitants of Moria to aid them in the war against their enemies. The Easterling Confederacy was slowly pulling together all the races with some grievance against Gondor and its allies and the goblins stood as much to lose as the rest of them in the continued prosperity of the Reunified Kingdom.

 

It was well known that Gimli had made several incursions into Moria, attempting to purge it of the influence that had seen the destruction of Balin and his people. There had been rumblings for some time that the northern kingdom of Arnor might be wiling to commit troops to reach that end in order to exploit the rich mithrail deposits beneath the Misty Mountains.  As if it was not enough that the dwarfs had invaded Moria numerous time to exact vengeance for their dead kin at the hands of goblins who allied themselves with the Balrog.

 

However, with Gimli a member of the fellowship and close friend to the king, the day when men and elves united to rid Moria of its unholy occupants did not seem so distant and it was in the best interests of the goblins that they threw in their lot with the Easterlings. Even with the mithrail fortune existing in the mountains, the Easterlings had no interest in the realm of the goblins since the conquest of Gondor and Rohan would yield riches in itself.  Eomer wondered what promises they had made to the goblins about dividing the spoils between themselves, the Dunlendings and the goblins. How far did this alliance truly delve.

 

These were questions Eomer could not answer immediately, though he had no doubt in his mind that the goblins had waylaid Bowen and the Rohirrim the way they had intended to ambush Eomer and his men. Eomer was not even certain that the message from Bowen was truly legitimate but another part of the plan to draw them from Edoras into the foothills where they were vulnerable. Had the plan been to take the king’s head and leave the Rohirrim leaderless?  Eomer could not answer but the architect of all this scheming was proving to be as shrewd an enemy as Saruman himself.

 

During their twilight ambush at the hands of the goblin, Eomer and the Rohirrim had manage to fight their way into the open plains where they were in a better position to defend themselves. The King of the Mark did not want to think of how had lost during the initial skirmish but in the cold light of day, he was forced to concede a loss of almost a quarter of his men. If it were not for the prescience of the animals they rode, that number would have been far worse.  Once in open country, the Rohirrim were in their element, night or not and they only had to prevail until morning before the goblins were driven back to their hiding places. This was done easily enough for the Rohirrim were not warriors to provoke.

 

Still, they did not emerge from the battle unscathed and when they found a place to shelter after the fighting was done, they were still reluctant to rest easy until the sun had rose over the horizon once again. Goblins were notorious for their weakness to the sunlight and only during the day could the Rohirrim be truly confident that they were safe. Thus after the breaking of dawn, Eomer allowed his men to rest while taking a small scouting party with him to search for what remained of Marshall of Riddermark and his riders.  Despite Carleon’s protests that he stay with the main party and rested his injuries, Eomer was determined to go and in the end, the Third Marshall of Riddermark ensured that the only way to keep the king safe was to remain at his side.

 

It did not take long to return to the place where the Rohirrim had been attacked and in the daylight, it was hard to picture the gloomy, grey rock filled slope as being the scene for a life and death struggle. However, there was ample evidence of it in the bloodied weapons and armour that lay on the ground. Litter for the aftermath of battle. There were no bodies and that fact alone sent a streak of outrage through the search party for there could be only one reason for it. Goblins were man eaters.  Pressing on, Eomer and his men continued their search and it was not long before they found the site where Bowen had fallen.

 

It was as terrible as they feared.

 

Once again, the refuse of a great battle or in this case, an ambush was evidenced all around them. It had taken Eomer many days to reach this place so the goblins had more time to deal with his Rohirrim brothers.  Bowen had not fared as well as his king mostly because Eomer had more experienced dealing in foul kind such as goblins and Uruk Hai after being on the front lines of Helm’s Deep and then Pelennor. In any case, Bowen and his army had never left the place where the trap had been sprung and the goblins saw no reason to hide their victory when they knew no one would be arriving for many days to make them account for their terrible deeds.

 

Here there were bodies or more accurately, bones.

 

Eomer tried not to imagine what horrors had been faced by the injured that were to helpless to defend themselves or fortunate enough to have been killed outright. He found their bones, skeletons that had been dismembered and then gnarled clean. There was meat on many of them and the sight was so much like a slaughterhouse than many of his search party had been forced on their knees to retch in disgust. Eomer did not blame them for the Rohirrim were not men who were possessed of weak constitutions but what they found was enough to reduce the strongest man to horror. 

It occurred to Eomer that it was not the goblins that had frightened the horses so but rather the stench of blood that he and his human companions had been unable to detect without the beasts’ superior sense of smell.  There was blood everywhere. It was caked on rocks, on the leaves of scant bushes. It was by far the most horrific thing that Eomer had seen and the discards of helmets, armour and weapons bathed in the same inflamed Eomer’s outrage to a white-hot fury.

 

Unfortunately, all that could be done in the wake of such carnage was to give burial to what dismembered remains there could be found. None of the skeletons remained intact, leading Eomer to the assumption that the goblins had days to satisfy their taste of man flesh. The burial was a grim task that many of the less seasoned men of the Rohirrim were unable to manage. Only veterans of war who had seen similar scenes of carnage were capable of performing the task. Eomer himself had taken part in this duty and there was a prevailing silence of seething anger as they gave their dead comrades the burial they deserved following the death that they had not.

 

It was traditional that the weapons of a fallen warrior should be buried with him and such was the case here, even if they could not discern who owned what weapon they found. As they gathered the weapons that would join its masters in their final resting place, Eomer noticed something that had not occurred to him before. In the wake of what they had seen, he could not deny that he was in the same stupor of shock as his men. However, the realisation leapt at him and led quickly to darker possibilities.

 

“Carleon,” he addressed the Third Marshal of Riddermark in the midst of the collection as he held a goblin arrow in his hand. “Have we found any weapons other than those belonging to our people and the goblins?”

 

Carleon, a veteran of Pelennor who had risen through the ranks of the Rohirrim quickly since, straightened up immediately and stared at his king with suspicion. “No,” he shook his head. “We have not.”

 

Eomer absorbed this and in doing so become decidedly more anxious because he as being forced to an unpleasant location. “We received intelligence from the Rangers that the Dunlendings were moving towards this area. The Rangers were certain of it and that is why Bowen and his men set off to engage them.”

 

“Yes,” Carleon nodded wondering why Eomer was telling him things he already knew. “However, their intelligence should have included the movement of the goblins as well.”

 

There was more than a hint of bitterness in his voice that Eomer could not blame him for. The king was similarly enflamed by what they had seen today. However, outrage had to be set aside when looming in the distance was an even greater peril, one that Carleon could yet see.

 

“Not if it were a trap to lure us here,” Eomer replied, remembering how they had been caught in a similar trick not long ago.  “Think of it Carleon, they allow themselves to be detected by the Rangers so that the Rohirrim would investigate. The word of the Rangers is not enough to bring forth a greater Rohirrim force but if a message were sent from the Marshal of the Mark, summoning the king, that is another matter entirely.”

 

“Then this was all an effort to bring you here to murder you?” Carleon exclaimed, furious at the subterfuge. The Rohirrim preferred to face their enemies without schemes. They believed in the purity of face-to-face confrontations and had little patience with deceptive strategies designed to weaken the enemy before that moment. This business of luring a king away from his people to assassinate him stabbed at the heart of the Rohirrim code of conduct.

 

“No,” Eomer replied, feeling his breath quiver as he released it to answer. “This was about ensuring that the bulk of our forces would be away from the Golden Hall when the Dunlendings move to take Edoras. That is why they are not here. The goblins were to either kill us or delay us so that the Dunleandings could make their way to the heart of Rohan without interference.”

 

Carleon could not speak but his face registered his shock. Eomer could not blame him because only one word filled his thoughts with this terrible deduction.

 

_Lothiriel._


	6. The Long Night

The enemy’s return was heralded by the signal of blaring horns sounded by the guards who had taken watch across Lossarnach’s walls. For most of the day, they had waited in place, certain that the enemy would return while within the city, their comrades licked their wounds and prepared for the next wave of attack. Though some deluded themselves into believing that the enemy’s departure the night before was permanent, the more seasoned warriors in their number knew that the retreat could be in no way seen as a victory. It was merely an interlude for both sides to recoup their losses and rethink their strategy.

 

Aragorn had come to terms with the fact that the leader of the Easterling Confederacy was an equal not merely in his kingship but as was very possibly a warrior in his own right.  After Gimli’s encounter with the man Aragorn was now convinced was the architect of this entire war, the king of Gondor found himself concerned that they had underestimated the enemy a great deal. All their suppositions to date in regards to the enemy’s course were no longer valid. The siege of Lossarnach was proof of that. Aragorn resolved that once the threat to Lossarnach was dealt with, he would call another council of war between the kings and lords of Middle earth in order to formalize a new plan of attack. Clearly, the one they had was inadequate to the task of anticipating the enemy, especially one who was proving to be as craft as this one.

 

The enemy appeared over the horizon and as Aragorn watch them approach the walls of Lossarnach amidst the cacophony of voices mobilizing themselves throughout the city for the ensuing battle, the king of Gondor with Legolas next to him, ascertain quickly what would be the enemy’s plan of attack. In truth, there could be no other alternative in the kind of war they were engaging for the enemy knew just as well as Aragorn that they had to take Lossarnach before the arrival of Gondor’s forces. The most expedient way to breach the walls of the city was to burn it down around the heads of those defending it.

 

Aragorn’s breath caught when he saw the sky over the army of the Haradrim emblazoned with amber light. There was no doubt in his mind what the enemy intended when faced with the line of flame from one end of the battlefield to another. Lossarnach was flanked on all sides save one by the mountains of Ered Namrais. Part of its favour as an agrarian centre and a summer place for Gondorian nobles was due to this protection. The mountains assured that Lossarnach was always visited with pleasant weather but also ensured that an invading army would have only one direction in which to assail the city. Unfortunately, this direction was now barred with a wall of flame, to be delivered upon the city by means of archers already taking up position.

 

It did Aragorn credit that the king had anticipated this and every drop of water, save the barest minimum for drink had been marshalled into the resource for the battling the inevitable tool of any siege, fire. Archers emblazoned the field in a straight line that ran from one end of the horizon to the other. They stood against a wall of soldiers armed with pikes that they were beating against the ground in steady rhythm. Some were armed with ladders and ropes but what caught Aragorn’s attention most was construction of wood that had been absent at their first engagement. The reason for this was obvious enough; the Haradrim had assumed they would have the element of surprise when taking Lossarnach. Unfortunately, the fact that it was not so did not deter the Haradrim from a more focussed attack.

 

During the battle of Pelennor, he had seen them employ the catapult like war machine known as the trebuchet.  It was easily built from good wood and required the army wielding it to merely transport the components of elasticised ropes and torsion springs instead of the complete device. Once the wood was found, specialised engineers could construct it swiftly, often requiring little more than a day to have the weapon ready for use. Once employed, it was a weapon capable of devastating power. The enemy could burn Lossarnach around them while battering its walls with rock until one or both methods forced them to yield. Aragorn had expected the fire but he had not anticipated the use of the trebuchet.

 

“We may not be able to keep them from entering the city,” Legolas declared, staring at the device and the wagons carrying the heavy rocks that would make up it ammunition in the rear of the army assembled before them. The archers were the first of course and there was almost beauty in their formation on the front lines but it was the beauty of watching some awesome phenomena doing its worst. Its power could be admired but could not be mistaken for anything but terrible.

 

“We won’t,” Aragorn replied firmly, not deluding himself of this fact. “They may breach the walls but there is still a good deal of city left for us to hold.  If it must be, we will find them in the streets and in the dwellings of Lossarnach. The Haradrim are accustomed to fighting their battle on the open field where else, we have enough experience fighting orcs and other foul things that we are familiar in close quarters combat. They enter Lossarnach but they are going to pay for every inch of city they invade with blood.”

 

Legolas did not speak because Aragorn was on the move again, this time rallying the archers of Lossarnach to combat the new menace. Most of them had gathered at the first sight of the enemy but it was clear arrows would not win this engagement.  Once again Legolas found himself facing an almost insurmountable enemy, taking the line with other archers who tried to appear unaffected by what was before them. His own mask remained aloof as he attempted to show them that there was nothing to fear and even if there were, it would avail them nothing to succumb to it. He could see their involuntary glimpses in his direction and that of the other elves present and Legolas sensed that they looked to the Eldar to bolster their spirit.

 

 Not that Aragorn was not managing this quite efficiently, Legolas noted. The king of Gondor stood at the edge of the wall, issuing orders, rallying his men with words of praise at their courage, firing their spirit with his own iron clad will. Despite the army preparing to attack, Legolas could see the faces of Lossarnach’s defenders shifting from anxiety to angry determination not to fail their king. There were kings who had ruled for a hundred years and never knew the adulation Aragorn was inspiring in his troops as he held Anduril over his head. 

 

There was a moment of overwhelming silence when both armies waited across the battlefield, sizing each other up in contest of scrutiny as old as the first battle. None spoke during this curious limbo and even the drumming of spears and pikes against the earth ceased for the duration. Aragorn searched the line of the Haradrim for his nemesis but could not see him through the line of fire that preceded the army before him. However, Aragorn was certain that he was there, seeking his Gondorian opposite just as surely as Aragorn was trying to find him.  He abandoned his search when he saw the Haradrim archers preparing to shoot their arrows.

 

“Shields!” Aragorn ordered and immediately the standing next to each archer on the wall produced their shields and held them protectively over the bowmen and themselves in tight, formation. Like a ripple on a pool, shields appeared like a new wall of steel springing to live. Even Aragorn had produced one and held it over himself and Legolas to protect them from the onslaught of fiery arrows.  There would be only a brief margin of time between the Haradrims’ first release and their swift rearming. It was during that narrow gap that the archers of Lossarnach would act.

  
Suddenly the battle cry of the Haradrim echoed through the night, shattering the silence even further. A great wind of flame swept across the space between the enemy and Lossarnach as the Haradrim line released their barrage of arrows after long last. Fiery streaks of light shot through the dark sky like falling stars. They did not fly towards the enemy on the wall but continued into the city where its flames would do the most harm.  The few that strayed from this predestined course met the hard obstruction of steel and slid of the shields that guarded the men behind it. As soon as the arrows were released, the defenders of Lossarnach emerged from behind their shields and proceeded to deliver an equally deadly attack in a return barrage of arrows.

 

A third of the Haradrim line collapsed beneath this deadly bombardment. The death of their comrades did not slow the enemy and they resumed their assault with similar vigour although the second wave of arrows was nowhere as numerous as the first. This time however, the archers of Lossarnach did not retreat behind their shields and continued to shoot, certain now that the enemy had little interest in them and was determined to deliver as many flamed arrows to the city in order to raze it.  The Haradrim was in no way prepared to sacrifice all its bowmen and an order in black speech sent the send wave of troops racing forward, armed wit pikes and ladders.

 

Their advance had the desired effect upon the defenders who promptly directed their arrows upon the warriors crossing the distance between Haradrim line and the walls of the city. As the archers busied themselves with kerbing the advance of the Haradrim, the rest of Lossarnach found their attention fixed upon the fires that were breaking out throughout the city.  The fires caused by the arrows though small would soon find fuel to burn hotter and further out of control. Roofs made of wood and thatched fibres were quick to ignite and a small arrow if left to burn would soon bathed the whole building in flames.

 

Those who were not fighting the invasion on the walls were dispersing through the innards of Lossarnach to combat the threat of fire that was spreading quickly through the city.  Smaller fires were being beaten to death with heavy blankets in an effort to conserve water, while a human chain had formed from the wells and water troughs to the fires that were raging beyond the capability of any blanket to contain.   They worked with great urgency amidst the thickening smoke that was polluting the air around them and the clouds that were sweeping through Lossarnach like an ill wind. Eyes watered and throats burned, the sound of cackling fire was replaced by deep, whooping coughs of men determined to prevail despite their assault by the flames.

 

Aragorn looked over his shoulder to see their progress and felt a swell of pride in the fierceness of their determination. Some buildings were irrevocably lost, their roof lighting like tinder, casting a fearsome glow of amber throughout the place. Some were being beaten into submission, either by water or blanket. There were people who were taking to using dirt to suffocate the flames, wielding shovels as they fought desperately to keep the fires from spreading further. Unfortunately, the king could allow his attention to stray but for only a moment because the enemy had pushed forward, using their overwhelming numbers to reach the walls.

 

However, Aragorn was conscious of an even worse threat as he stared at the army before him. He paid little attention to the warriors attempting to scale the wall with ladders and ropes because he knew that the defenders of Lossarnach were cutting down any Haradrim making the attempt. No, his concern lay in the weapon that had so far remained unused. He could see the engineers responsible for its function swirling around the construct, loading it with the appropriate ammunition. At first Aragorn thought that they were merely rocks but the Haradrim had smeared them with something dark. He thought it might have been mud but that made little sense to him.

 

“What are they doing?” Legolas asked, having caught Aragorn’s gaze.

 

“They are arming that thing,” Aragorn replied. “That much is certain but I am uncertain of what they have treated the rocks.”

 

Their speculation ended but a moment later when one of the engineers raised a torched to the seemingly mud encrusted boulder. It caught alight easily enough and the fire spread across its irregular surface with surprising swiftness.

 

“Tar,” Aragorn exclaimed. “That is tar!”

 

The word had not left his lips when the mechanism was released and the boulder encrusted with the black was hurled towards the city walls.

 

“Off the wall!” Aragorn was shouting, aware that in ordering the retreat, they were leaving themselves to be over run. “Everyone, get off the wall!” Unfortunately, once the boulder met its mark, it would make little difference anyway. 

 

Some had already seen what was coming and leapt off the high wall, not caring that they might be injured in the leap but it was far wiser than remaining. Others scurried down the steps away from the wall since it was difficult to predict where the projectile would land.  In the final analysis, such foresight made little difference for when the bolder struck, the wall facing the enemy shuddered and groaned as if it had voice to speak. The result was almost an explosion as those who had not put sufficient distance between themselves and the fall were flung outward like the debris of shattering rock.  The impact of the boulder immediately collapsed the section of wall in a cloud of smoke and dust.

 

A fissure appeared through the wall as brick crumbled into dust. The boulder had shattered when it had met the hard stone surface but its destruction produced an even greater threat as fragments of rock, covered in tar sprayed the area with fire. Those who had not died in the initial impact, who remained broken and unable to move, were left to burn in unimaginable agony as they were covered with fiery debris. Their comrades scrambled to aid them but there was little or no time to draw breath before the newly created opening was spilling forth with Haradrim warriors who had finally found their way inside Lossarnach’s perimeter.

 

And it was but the first strike from the insidious weapon.

 

Aragorn lost sight of Legolas after he had issued his warning but soon found the elf helping one of the injured to his feet. The man had fortunately survived the initial impact but was surrounded by fragments of burning debris and lay in the path of the invading Haradrim.  Gimli was already facing the enemy and was bringing down anyone who came across his way with typical gusto. The elves had also abandoned their bows and were now fighting with swords, engaging the enemy with almost grace like skill. Nunaur was proving why he was the march warden of Eden Ardhon for he was a terror to watch on the battlefield. His moves were subtle and graceful, no over extensions or clumsy attempts at brute force but rather short, controlled strikes that made the most impact and rarely needed to deliver more than two before his opponent was a thing of the past.

 

It was of no surprise to Aragorn who had battled alongside of elves in one arena or another through most of his life. During the War of the Ring, Legolas had been one of his greatest assets on the field of battle; Gimli and he had made a formidable team indeed. Aragorn watched briefly as the elf removed the wounded warrior to a place of safety, though how long it remained that way was debatable. The outcome he had feared was taking place – the battle for Lossarnach would be fought within its walls, not beyond it.

 

Aragorn was prompted into moving when he saw a Haradrim warrior making his way across the debris covered dirt towards Legolas, who was still busy with his injured comrade and appeared not to have noticed the advance.  A slight stiffening in Legolas’ posture told Aragorn otherwise and he released one hand to grope for his sword in order to defend himself. Aragorn could see that he would not be able to react in time, especially when Legolas’ attention was half given to the danger coming at him and the fate of the man in the grip of his other hand.

 

Before he could think twice, Aragorn had launched himself off the edge of the wall on top of the would-be assassin of his best friend. His weight brought down the Haradrim warrior like a felled boar and Aragorn wasted no time smashing his head against the ground, where he struggled no more. Legolas released a breath at the near miss and acknowledged Aragorn’s aid with a slight nod of his head. They had been comrades far too long to require any more than that.  Aragorn rose to his feet as Legolas left the injured man beneath the awning of a building that had somehow managed to escape the onslaught of fire around them. The structure seemed relatively safe and the men offered his thanks to the elf before Legolas turned away to join Aragorn in battling the invading hordes spilling through the orifice.

 

He had no more than taken two steps when suddenly, his ears filled with an explosion of sound. A force that was not unlike that of a gale threw Legolas forward. The elf face’s scraped dirt as his head swirled with disorientation and the business of hearing become a muffled affair of dull pelting against the ground. He opened his eyes and saw Aragorn running towards him, the king’s expression one of fear. Legolas was confused for a moment, feeling no injury except this odd heat upon his back. Only when Aragorn pulled off his coat and draped it over the elf, did Legolas realise that his back was on fire. That his hair had not ignited was a testament to Aragorn’s speed that prevented that horrific outcome from taking place with his speedy action.

 

“Are you alright?” Aragorn demanded as he pulled the leather pack where Legolas normally house his bow and his weapons. Fortunately, the pouch carrying the arrows had bore the brunt of the damage which would have been a source of intense gratitude to Legolas who would have surely grieved if Galadriel’s gift to him were damaged.

 

“What happened?” Legolas asked only because his head was still spinning, though if he had given it more thought the answer would have been fairly obvious.

 

Looking over his shoulder, Legolas saw the house when he had left the injured man he rescued had been completely levelled. The Haradrim weapon had smashed through its foundations and what it did not set ablaze, it crumbled around the man’s ears in a swift and final end. All there was in place of a building was a pile of flaming debris, almost like a funeral pyre. Of the man, there as no sign and Legolas felt a sliver of pain knowing that his body was buried beneath the destruction. The elf only hoped that his death had been quick.

 

“That is twice you have saved me,” Legolas said softly, his voice somewhat dazed as Aragorn helped him to his feet.

 

“I am certain that there will be ample opportunity this day for you to return that debt,” the king replied as his eyes surveyed the damage being caused by the Haradrim construct beyond the walls of the city.  Enemy warriors were flooding into Lossarnach with fierce fighting taking place in almost every corner.  Amidst this already difficult battle, another was being waged against the fires that were quickly enveloping anything in its path. The militia was battling this equally dangerous enemy with every resource at their disposal and the division of forces was hurting the defence of Lossnarch.

 

“We have to stop that accursed device,” Legolas declared once he had recovered sufficiently. The bombardment continued relentlessly, until the explosion of sound with each impacting boulder was something they were becoming accustomed to.  This barrage was proving to be more detrimental than the great numbers of Haradrim they were facing.  Walls were crumbling with each impact, buildings destroyed in spectacular explosions that promised everyone present that if the Haradrim did not take Lossarnach, they would still leave it in ruins.

 

Aragorn considered that and searched the bodies around him to note that there was a great deal of Haradrim warriors fighting their way into the city. Their thoughts seemed focussed on little else.  He made a swift calculation of how many were within his city and wondered if the idea forming in his mind was sensible or not. As king, he should be here leading his people but if this bombardment continued, there would be nothing left of Lossarnach or its people to defend.

 

“I think you are right,” Aragorn met his gaze.  “Care to join me?”

 

Legolas’ dirt smeared face broke into a smile and he stared at the opening where more and more warriors were making their way into the city. “It is a perilous course,” he advised, “we should tread cautiously.”

 

“You are correct Master Elf,” Aragorn retorted, grasping his meaning immediately. “We should make Gimli come with us.”

* * *

 

The destruction that had seemed overwhelming when one was within the walls of Lossarnach, seemed even worst when the three of the nine walkers slipped past the bodies of Haradrim racing to take the city, oblivious to everything else. Of course it did help that all three were accustomed to stealth and travelling unseen through the most hostile of places. If it were not for this talent, none of them would have survived the Quest of the Ring even if it had ended prematurely at the falls of Rauros. They moved in darkness, taking advantage of the fact that all eyes were drawn naturally to the illumination of the fires that were running rife through Lossarnach and not the surrounding darkness.

 

There were enemies encountered on the way, opponents who did not look too closely at them or wonder in depth why they had ventured so far from their other comrades, recognising only that they were the enemy.  The three walkers dealt with these swiftly, allowing nothing to deter them in their journey. Aragorn cast his gaze over his shoulder during the advance and felt his stomach hollow at the sight of the Lossarnach whose wounds seemed even more grievous from the distance. Columns of thick smoke rose into the night sky, pillars of grey that pierce the heavens themselves. In the brief glimpse he could hear the cries of the wounded amidst the clanging of steel and found that it was necessary to harden his heart or else he could not do what must be done if they were to survive the night, let alone the siege.

 

The weapon that had allowed the enemy its great advantage was still sending fireball towards the city and with impact and exploding sound, defeat inched even closer than before.  If the three of them did not put an end to the accursed device, there would be no Lossarnach to defend, just demolished ruins breathed in fire. Aragorn could accept it if they were defeated by overwhelming numbers for he knew that each any every one of Lossarnach’s defenders were fighting with honour. However, losing because a construct of wood and steel left a sour taste in his mouth.

 

It was not difficult to find the weapon or its masters once the Haradrim warriors had dispersed into the conquest of Lossarnach. Unmistakable in its construction, they saw at least a dozen men gathered around the weapon, either taking part in its operation or preparing the ammunition with tar and fire for its eventual release upon the beleaguered city. The enemy did not pay much heed to their approach at first, assuming that they were part of the Haradrim number. The darkness aided in this confusion and three walkers were quite adept at stealthy approaches to be able to remain anonymous until the last possible moment.

 

However, the moment was brief because the Haradrim gathered around the weapon may have been engineers but they were also warriors and it was inevitable that they recognised the three men approaching were not of their own.  All abandoned what they were doing as they raced forward to deal with this sudden threat and found that their opponents were more than accustomed to waging a three man army when the mood took them.  Sword, bow and axe were proven to be formidable weapons in the hands of master wielders as Aragorn dispatched the first Haradrim to reach him with a swift slice across his belly.  Armour or not, Anduril saw little difficulty in penetrating it and dropped the Haradrim in midstep. The king of Gondor did not even pause before moving on to the next challenger.

 

Legolas who was capable of arming a bow and killing his enemy when he was but a few paces away, made swift work of any Haradrim who might have attempted to accost Aragorn while he was defending himself. The king had done him several good turns this evening and Legolas intended to see that debt paid. With almost flawless grace, he repeated the motion of rearming his bow and shooting arrows in almost cyclical rhythm. Within minutes, Legolas had formed a circle of bodies around him all the way to the trebuchet. 

 

While Aragorn and Legolas battled the machine’s masters, Gimli approached the device itself.  Like Aragorn, he had recognised the construct from the battle of the Pelennor.  To a dwarf, the weapon was functional but hardly sophisticated. He examined it as one would examine the crude efforts of a novice smith, seeing potential in the flaws but obviously in need of greater instruction.  Dwarves, who were unimaginably gifted when it came to working either metal or wood, had little time to build weapons. Of course their axes and blades were the finest to be crafted anywhere in Middle earth. Some were even considered works of art but their innovation seldom lent itself to their weapons. Though they enjoyed battle and relished victory, they did not actively seek it out.

 

Gimli required only a few moments of examination to come to the conclusion that the weapon was easy enough to disable. He had to admire its simplicity but in that asset was also its weakness. As easy as it was for it to perform its function, it was also ludicrously easy to render ineffective. Stepping forward, he examined the elasticised ropes that acted as the levering mechanism for the construct and knew that this was the pivotal component. Swinging his axe, the blade made a neat arc through the air before it struck the fibres of the rope, snapping it with such force that they recoiled like whips. The main arm of the catapult suddenly gave way and slammed hard against the ground, unearthing tufts of soil in its landing. Gimli repeated this action on the hinges as well until all the components that made the device work lay in ruins.

 

“Is it done?” Legolas asked after Gimli had concluded his task.

 

“It will menace Lossarnach no further,” the dwarf retorted grimly.

 

“It did enough,” Aragorn said unable to be grateful when all he could see in the distance was the damage done to the city. The fires were raging out of control and even if they manage to defend Lossarnach until Faramir arrived with the rest of Gondor’s forces, there was every possibility that there may be little left of the city.

 

”Come,” he ushered his companions, “we must get back. There is still much to do.”

 

To this, none of his companions could disagree. Despite the destruction of the device that was causing so much damage to Lossarnach, the danger was by no small means ended. There were still too many Haradrim warriors in the city and the fires ensured that the men who should be fighting them were otherwise occupied in trying to save the city. Aragorn led the journey back to Lossarnach, satisfied that his absence away from its defence had been well worth the effort.

 

However, as they made their returned to the city, a dozen or more Haradrim warriors emerged from the breach in the wall with great speed. It took no feat of genius to discern that the reason for their hasty departure was due to the fact that the construct was no longer bombarding Lossarnach with its fiery ammunition nor did it take them long to discover who was responsible for it.  The enemy fixed their eyes upon the trio whose return path ensured that they could not have from any other direction other than the weapon. The realisation inspired the warriors to rush forward, brandishing their weapons in readiness to strike.

 

Legolas halted in midstep, seeing no reason to wait until the enemy reached them to attack. The elf was already arming his bow and taking aim when the first of the Haradrim swung his blade to strike. The arrow struck him in the chest, forcing him to stagger back in pain and impending death for Legolas knew where the arrow would do its worst.  The lord of Eden Ardhon wasted no time in releasing another arrow and with the skill for which he had become renowned throughout Middle earth, dispatched a further three before his companions were forced to engage the enemy themselves.

 

While not quite possessing Legolas’ finesse in defending himself, Aragorn did strike fear into the hearts of his opponents by the brutal and precise wielding of his sword.  Blade met blade with such force that the enemy was driven back. It was not that Aragorn was stronger or more imposing in stature, he merely knew how to strike with great effect.  While his rancour in battle might be confused for a frenzied attack, those who knew him and were accustomed to this swordsmanship knew that every strike had a purpose that would ultimately demolish whatever defence position his opponent may deign to take.

 

Unfortunately, during the course of the battle the triumvirate which had thus so far proved so useful was unwittingly divided. While each were able to hold their own against the enemy, Aragorn found himself drifting further and further away from his companions. Deciding that this was not entirely the best time to become divided, the king defeated his latest opponent and sought to rejoin his comrades when suddenly a dark shape slipped in front of him almost as if he had stepped out of the shadows.

 

Aragorn knew immediately whom he was facing, remembering Gimli’s description all too well.  He was taller than Aragorn but the king was able to say with some measure of satisfaction that the man was nowhere as large as a troll, though he was sizeable to say the least. He stared at Aragorn with flinty eyes, trying to dissect his counterpart in a few seconds of scrutiny. He was not of the race of Haradrim but certainly originated from the Sunlands. 

 

Gimli had been correct when he said that Melia was a hybrid of two races. This man before him was the pure product without question. Like the Haradrim warriors, he wore the customary spiked helmet and corselet of bronze. However, Aragorn noticed the symbol of the black serpent was adorned upon the alloy of the breastplate. Unlike the other Haradrim, this one wore no paint upon his face and his dark hair, tight with curls was worn short against his scalp, save for a thick braid of hair that was held in place by gold running down the back of his neck.

 

“You lead this army?” Aragorn asked with absolute certainty that this man was king.

 

“I do,” he nodded sombrely, the weapon in his hand brandished and ready.

 

“You have proven to be most elusive,” Aragorn remarked, noting the action and making the same preparations.

 

“I intended it to be as such,” the tall, dark man of the Sunlands answered.

  
”Now that you are here, may I know to whom I speak?” The king of Gondor asked of his Haradrim counterpart.

 

The enemy’s brow arched at the question, “is that so important?”

 

“To me it is,” Aragorn replied.

 

“Then I refuse because it matters to you so much,” he sneered, his eyes narrowing at Aragorn in contempt.

 

“It does not have to come to this,” Aragorn replied unperturbed, thinking himself remiss if he did not at least try to talk peace now that he finally had the leader of the Easterling Confederacy before him.  In truth, he knew it would make little difference but he had been the responsible leader for too long to not even try.

 

“I expected better from you King of Gondor,” the warrior king glared at Aragorn with something akin to impatience, “not this pathetic grovelling.”

 

Aragorn stiffened at the inference but allowed the man’s words to slide off him like water upon a fowl’s back. “I do not grovel for my sake,” he stared at the Haradrim king with a hint of contempt, “but rather for yours. Your people cannot afford to wage war against mine.”

 

“And yet we have managed well enough this evening,” his opponent retorted.

 

“You have only managed because you have employed the element of surprise and caught us unprepared. We will not make the same mistake again,” Aragorn replied firmly.

 

“Your arrogance will be your undoing,” the enemy hissed and raised his scimitar to strike. “It will be my pleasure to teach you how.”

 

With that, the civilities, what little there were, ended when the Haradrim swung his weapon at Aragorn who immediately deflected the blade with Anduril’s own formidable strength. Steel clanged loudly as the two warriors met on the field, prepared to fight to the death if necessary. In the darkness of twilight, their kingly titles were stripped away and they faced each other in the only way two men of differing loyalties could.  Initially, both opponents met each other with exploratory strikes to determine skill and ability. Aragorn found that his opponent was stronger and preferred to end his engagements swiftly through brute force. It was very much a Haradrim characteristic but it was tempered with the skill of a master swordsman, which made him very dangerous indeed.

Aragorn preferred to strike defensively, until he had a better inkling of the Haradrim’s strategy. He parried a sharp thrust of the enemy’s blade and riposte swiftly, forcing the man to take a few steps backwards. Rage flared in his as Aragorn saw how much he loathed being forced to withdraw for any reason. This retreat only forced the Haradrim to swing even more powerfully at Aragorn who once again caught the blow before it could do any real harm. However, as their swords made contact, Aragorn lashed out with his foot, the ball of it connecting to the enemy’s stomach.

 

A groan of pain escaped the Haradrim king whose response to this was to swing wildly and with such power that if Aragorn had not dropped, he would have lost his head there and then. Forcing to avoid such a savage attack had placed him in a position of disadvantage that his opponent was quick to exploit. A knee slammed into Aragorn’s chest, driving the wind out of him as he landed flat on his back.  He looked up just in time to see a blade coming down upon him and Aragorn rolled quickly out of the way before he kicked hard against his enemy’s knee and scrambled to his feet. Giving him little time to react, Aragorn took the offensive and swung Anduril with all the might he could manage.

 

The Haradrim deflected the blow but just barely.  Aragorn did not allow him time to recover and threw a fist in his face. The man shook of the strike and then leapt to his feet with surprising agility to face Aragorn again. Once again, they came together in the dance of clashing steel. Both were well matched and as they battled each other alone and far away from the eyes of their warriors, it felt as if the war had suddenly contracted to this singular engagement.

 

However, Aragorn could see that the Haradrim was unaccustomed to a protracted swordfight while he had been in situations where he had been called to continue fighting for days. It was understandable of course. Even during the War of the Ring, the enemy was accustomed to striking in numbers where a swift victory was anticipated. Sauron only used his orcs and Uruk Hai for sustained warfare.  Having battled them for so long, Gondor and Rohan knew how to last in such tournaments and now more than ever, it was a skill worth its weight in gold.

 

“You fight well King of Gondor,” the enemy hissed. “The tales of your skill are not unfounded.”

 

“If this is your attempt to curry favour for mercy, I am afraid that you exhausted that possibility when you butchered the people of Lebethron.”

 

“A means to an end,” he grinned, white teeth contrasting starkly against dark lips.  He swung again with Aragorn blocking the strike easily, however the Haradrim also lashed out with a massive hand and struck the king across the jaw.

 

Aragorn staggered a little but did not suffer any ill effects other than pain and momentary disorientation. He shook off the pain and weaved neatly past the Haradrim when the enemy came at him again. Slamming an elbow into the man’s rib, he felt some measure of satisfaction in the groan of pain that was produced. Allowing himself no break in his relentless attack, Aragorn kicked him in the back and sent the enemy sprawling into the dirt. The Haradrim landed face first, his body causing a small cloud of dust as he landed.  Aragorn hurried forward preparing to end this battle once and for all when suddenly a fist full of dirt was flung in his face.

 

The king of Gondor cursed indignantly as his eyes reacted instinctively to the unwanted invasion by clamping shut, locking out sight.  Aragorn retreated hastily, aware that he had a precious few seconds to recover this cowardly attack or else as far as he was concerned, the war would well and truly be over.  It was difficult to see through the welling moisture in his eyes but he was able to make out the shape of the Haradrim king approaching him, sword brandished and ready to deliver a killing blow. Aragorn struggled to offer some kind of defense despite his handicap when suddenly, he saw the enemy groan in pain. An arrow had suddenly speared through this arm, its sharp point jutting out through flesh in Aragorn’s direction.  The Haradrim king swung around and saw the approach of Legolas and Gimli who had despatched their opponents and then realised quite to their shock that Aragorn was nowhere in sight.

 

“This is not done,” the enemy hissed as he glared hatefully at Aragorn and then at Legolas, “my people will bathe Middle earth in blood before this is over and I promise your pet elf is going to pay dearly for his part in this.”

 

With that, the king of the Easterlings fled into the darkness.

* * *

 

When Legolas and Gimli finally arrived at Aragorn’s side, the king of Gondor had sufficiently regained most of his vision, though his eyes still stung from the invasion by dirt.  The Easterling leader had fled, obviously unwilling to face the combined strength of Aragorn and his companions. Aragorn searched the field and saw little sign of the man who had most likely hurried back to the battle of Lossarnach where he could lose himself in the numbers of his people. 

 

“Did you see where he went?” Aragorn demanded of Legolas whose vision and senses were far superior to his own, even when it was not half blind from sand.

 

“I saw him return to the city,” Legolas replied smoothly.

 

“We must find him!” Aragorn exclaimed and started making forceful strides towards Lossarnach.

 

“Why?” Legolas asked with some measure of confusion.

 

“I think he may have been the opponent I faced earlier,” Gimli answered for Aragorn, grasping the truth far swifter because the shape that had hurried away after Legolas had put an arrow in it was decidedly familiar. 

 

“The Haradrim king?” Legolas declared with surprise. He had been so concerned with stopping the man from killing Aragorn that he had thought of little else except halting the progress of that swinging blade. Perhaps he should not have been more final in his action.

 

“It was him,” Aragorn hissed almost inaudibly. “He would not do me the courtesy of giving me his name.”

 

Legolas could sense the fury in his friend as Aragorn hurried back to the beleaguered city.  He wondered what had transpired during the engagement between the two rivals that could incense the King of Gondor so. After all, war despite its ability to spear through the heart of everyone it touched was still a highly impersonal affair between kings. It was often based on issues that had little to do with the men who wore the crowns but rather the events that transpired between them. Yet there was something personal in the manner Aragorn had emerged from his encounter with the Haradrim king.  He hastened his pace to catch up with Aragorn but the king was moving rapidly off the field, fired by anger and matters that Legolas was not privy.

 

“Let him go,” Gimli advised. “He will tell us later what took place between them.”

 

Legolas nodded sombrely and was about to comment further when his senses were drawn elsewhere.  He could feel it pressing against his awareness but it lacked the edge of danger. He drifted away from Gimli for a moment, staring into the horizon, watching in anticipation.  Gimli saw the gleam in his eye, having travelled long enough at the side of the Prince to know what significance it had.

 

“What is it?”  Gimli asked, following Legolas’ gaze.

 

“Someone is coming,” Legolas replied, still staring.

 

A few more seconds elapsed and it bore into Gimli’s patience when it appeared that they were staring at nothingness but then like a soft rumble against the ground, the dwarf felt the resonance travel through the soles of his boots into his bones. It was soft at first. Barely discernible because of the noise coming from the battle within Lossarnach was overwhelming all other sound. However, it soon took on a life of its own and grew until it matched easily the commotion emanating from the battle. When it became loud enough to hear clearly, Gimli recognised it immediately for what it was.

 

Horses.

 

Leading the way on the darkened horizon, Faramir appeared with the Rohirrim and Gondorian cavalry behind him. It was difficult to tell how many they were but their numbers were many, enough to fill both Legolas and Gimli with gratitude because at last they reinforcements they needed so badly would help turn the tide of the battle.  The defenders had been holding their own for almost two nights and while they had fought bravely, the losses that the Haradrim had inflicted upon them were considerable.  The fires were threatening to consume the whole of Lossarnach and not even their valiant efforts could save the city when they being were assailed by two enemies.

 

It did not take long for the reinforcements to reach the city and once they did, the battle ended swiftly. The Haradrim, realising that the defenders were now aided with the support of the Rohirrim and the Gondorian cavalry had bade a hasty retreat. Although a sizeable number of them had been killed in the battle, there were still enough of them to cause considerable mischief if they were not pursued. Unfortunately, the arrival of Faramir had only brought enough support to drive away the invaders, not to give chase. That action could wait until Imrahil arrived with the ground troops.

 

Aragorn had searched desperately for the leader of the Haradrim but upon his return to Lossarnach, he saw no sign of the man whom he had battled to stalemate.  Their encounter had proven to Aragorn that unless this formidable warrior was either reasoned with or killed, the war would never end. The hatred in   his eyes told Aragorn that he would never cease to consider the Reunified Kingdom and its allies as anything but enemies.  As the enemy left the walls of Lossarnach, Aragorn was determined that as soon as it was possible, they would set out after the Haradrim army. He had not said to Legolas the threat made by the Easterling king regarding Legolas and his people because he intended to engage the army before they could take out their vengeance on Eden Ardhon for their defeat at Lossarnach.

  
Despite the end of the fighting, the battle was by no means ended. Once Faramir and the riders with him had ensured that the Haradrim had gone completely from the area, they returned to join the equally important battle to save Lossarnach from the flames caused by the siege. They worked long and hard into the night, salvaging what they could but unfortunately, the destruction was far too grave and insidious to prevent the loss of many of Lossarnach’s homes.  By the time the dawn broke over the horizon, much of Lossarnach appeared decimated. Very little still stood even though they could claim the charred ground the city stood upon as still being a home for one of Gondor’s older fiefdoms.

 

“The people of Lossarnach will not have much of a homecoming,” Aragorn lamented as he stood with Faramir at one of the structures that had been made into a place of rest following the breaking of dawn when the flames had finally been quelled.

 

Faramir swept his gaze around his immediate surroundings and was sad to find agreement with his king. The air smelt of smoke and cinders, while the walls of the Lossarnach were charred black. There was not an inch of space on the ground that was not covered with ash or charred cinders. The blackened framework was all that was left of some buildings. Its determination to stand was a monument to futility when all else around it had been burned away. Men wandered about, their heads bent low and their faces a gamut of emotions, shock, anger, despair and relief, a veritable cornucopia of feelings that Faramir could empathise with.

 

“At least it is still here,” Faramir replied, trying to soothe his king’s inevitable feeling of failure. Aragorn took defeats much too hard, particularly when it was to the detriment of his people. “They can rebuild.”

 

Aragorn stared at the destruction and swallowed away the feelings of guilt that were climbing up his throat from his insides, threatening to make him useless to all who needed him.  “As soon as Imrahil is here, we will leave here and find them.”

 

“Find them or him?” Faramir asked slyly, aware of the encounter with the Haradrim king.

 

Aragorn looked at him sharply, “we have to find him and we have to kill him. If we do not, this will never end. They will never be satisfied with peace.”

 

“How can you be sure?” Faramir inquired, sensing some unspoken anxiety that Aragorn was reluctant to voice.

 

“I can be sure because I looked into his eyes Faramir and what I saw there concerns me greatly. This whole invasion is because of him. They love him and they will follow him into any battle, do anything that they ask of him. Do you know how great such power is?”

 

“Yes,” Faramir nodded, often thinking that Aragorn had that kind of strength that naturally drew people to him. “I do.”

 

“His hate for us is personal and I do not think that he be willing to endure any peace, so long as the Reunified Kingdom exists and this defeat will only make that rage burn even greater. What I feared the most for Legolas has come to pass, the enemy had decided that the elves are to be warred upon like the rest of us.”

 

“You think that they will move upon Eden Ardhon?” Faramir asked, wishing he could say something that dispelled Aragorn’s fears but he could not.

 

“I do not think,” Aragorn said with a sigh, “I know.”

* * *

 

Lothiriel had made a difficult choice when she had elected to remain in Edoras instead of returning home to Dol Amroth.

 

Because she was neither wife nor the betrothed of King Eomer, her status was regarded with some measure of confusion within the Golden Hall.  As it was, she was under some ignominy because she had ignored the protocols that required her to be at home with her parents instead of unchaperoned in the realm of a potential suitor. However, Lothiriel knew in her heart that she loved Eomer and saw no reason to be cloistered away from him when he needed her most.  Edoras, like the rest of the Reunified Kingdom was under threat and she saw no reason to leave the place she may some day dwell permanently as its queen.

 

During Eomer’s absence, Lothiriel spent much of her time in the suite of rooms that had become her home away from home since her arrival in Edoras. While the people in the palace treated her well enough, she knew that they viewed her with deep scrutiny as they tried to decide whether or not she was a proper match for their beloved king. Until Eomer returned and her position in his life more secure, Lothiriel was content to remain out of their purview, even though she ventured occasionally from the palace to see for herself how life progressed in Edoras.

 

It was a very different place from Dol Amroth and yet so alike at the same time. The chief business in Edoras was the sale of horses. Much of the commerce that took place in the city involved the cottage industry that had blossomed in the wake of Rohan’s fame as the breeding ground for Middle earth’s best horses. During the dark years when Sauron still walked among them, even Mordor had desired the horses of Rohan and had stolen them when the Golden Hall had refused to sell them to such a terrible fate.  Since the fall of Sauron and Mordor, the security afforded by the Reunified Kingdom had prompted people’s desire to see lands that were once forbidden to them. This need for travel had caused people to seek out swifter means of travel and to that end; Rohan’s horses were eagerly sought.

 

Lothiriel had never been much of a rider which was part of the reason she seldom left home and was virtually unknown to her cousins in Gondor. However, if she were to be Eomer’s wife, Lothiriel realised she would have to learn. Her first few weeks in Edoras had been spent riding and now she was comfortable enough to ride alone. Since Eomer had left Edoras, Lothiriel had continued her efforts to become more comfortable in the saddle and one of her practices had in the morning was to take a ride in the magnificent horse plains surrounding Edoras.

 

“I am more than capable of riding on my own captain,” Lothiriel said impatiently as she rode through the field of tall grass with three Rohirrim guards.

 

“I am more than aware of that my lady,” Vorigen, the captain of the guard at the Golden Hall replied smoothly. He remembered with some fondness how his predecessor would have the same conversation with Lady Eowyn when she resided in Edoras and considered himself fortunate that Lothiriel was nowhere that spirited. “However, we have not received any word from the king in a number of days and following the intelligence of the Rangers that there is something odd in the behaviour of the Dunlendings they observed, I would prefer not to risk your safety.”

 

“He is well,” Lothiriel stated firmly, determined not to take Vorigen’s words about Eomer’s silence as a sign of ill tidings regarding her love’s fate. 

 

“Of course he is,” Vorigen answered with genuine belief. “I do not believe that the King could survive the War of the Ring only to fall prey to Dunlendings rogues. He will return soon enough with their heads at the end of his sword.”

 

“A disturbing picture,” Lothiriel said with a slight frown, “but I think you are right.”

 

They rode through the idyllic terrain, admiring the majesty of the White Mountains in the background of Edoras as it sat high upon the hill, overlooking the horse plains and the grasslands. It was a pleasant day with the sun shining enough warmth for it to be enjoyable but not uncomfortable. There was a faint trace of dried grass and pollen in the air which did not affect her as much as she thought it would. Lothiriel ran her hand over the neck of her horse, earning a slight nicker of satisfaction from the steed and was pleased that she was developing something of a relationship with the best who was called Star because of the white flare shaped in a star on the bridge of his nose.

 

“I have been in the service of the Golden Halls for almost a decade my lady,” Vorigen smiled, “I am accustomed to seeing the king returning when we believed the worst.”

 

“I will trust your judgement….”Lothiriel started to say but never managed to finish the sentence because a spear burst through Vorigen’s chest and splattered Lothiriel with blood. Lothiriel screamed in fright as Vorigen tumbled from the saddle, dead before he even touched the ground.  They appeared out of the grass as if they had been hiding there waiting. Her other two escorts immediately unsheathed their swords to attack but were of little match for the scouting party that had unwittingly crossed their path. Lothiriel counted at least six men who were obviously Dunlending tribesmen. She had never seen one before but the descriptions of this warlike barbarian race left no doubt in her mind of their identity.

 

“It’s a scouting party!” One of the Rohirrim warriors exclaimed.

 

They felled the two warriors with her easy enough and turned their gaze to the young women, their eyes narrowing with sinister intent. It was all the incentive Lothiriel needed to dig her heels into the flanks of her anxious horse and set the beast running. However, they were anticipating her flight and as she felt the wind in her hair at her sudden departure and dared to hope at her escape, Star’s head reared up in pain.  Lothiriel last thought before she was thrown out of the saddle was the arrow that had embedded itself into the animal’s hide.

 

She hit the dirt hard and felt her shoulder ache in pain at the landing but suffered no more injuries than that. The lady was grateful for that one consolation though she did not believe for an instant that she was safe. Scrambling to her feet, she saw them approach her slowly, stalking her like a pack of wolves about to converge upon a helpless fawn. She saw them lick their lips in anticipation, the sneers across their dirt covered face and knew that it was a far worse fate then death that awaited her if she did not get away from them this instant.

 

“This can be done with great pain or this can be done easily my pretty,” one of them spoke as he leered at her with blatant lust. 

 

“Cur,” Lothiriel hissed feeling a surge of venom coursing through her. “You will not lay one hand upon me, not unless you wish to die.”

 

“You are a spirited one,” he grinned and Lothiriel’s cheeks flamed with outrage when the others laughed.

 

She saw them approaching and knew her window of opportunity was dwindling quickly.  Closing her eyes, she could think of only one way to protect herself. Since the incident with the shape shifters, her devotion to magic had lessened because she knew how dangerous the world of spells could be after seeing its mischief first hand. However, she had also been responsible for breaking the terrible spell that had overcome the minds of Middle Earth’s rulers. Following that day, she found her ability had improved much and while she would never be an Istar like Gandalf or Pallando, Lothiriel knew enough to save herself from situations like this.

 

She searched her mind quickly for the spell required and spoke the incantation quickly, all the time preparing herself to run because she did not know how much of a delay it would provide, if any at all if she failed.  The words halted the Dunlending in their tracks because they were a superstitious lot and they recognised its substance even if they did not understand its content.  They started to retreat in fear but Lothiriel was no longer paying attention; her mind was too fixed upon the spell she was reciting.

 

She heard them scream and did not listen, hardening her heart to their cries as they became more desperate. Even Star, who lay wounded on the ground was neighing in distress, its animal senses more attuned to the magic than even Lothiriel herself. The lady of Dol Amroth continued her invocation until the voices were silent and the spell had finally spoken its last. When she opened her eyes, she found herself alone.

 

Aware that there could be only one cause of this, she ambled forward shakily, her eyes searching the grassy plains until she caught sight of the new patches of bare dirt.  Fingers protruded from the newly turned soil, clawing at the air like a man drowning in a lake, only this one was made of sand not water. Lothiriel felt as if she would retch, knowing that she had killed these men but the guilt over their deaths passed by quickly when she remembered what one of her escorts had said before he was killed.

 

A scouting party.

  
If these men were the scouts, where then were the rest of their company?

 

Lothiriel started running, leaving her injured horse behind because she realised unless she returned to the Golden Hall and warn them of what she knew, Edoras was going to learn the hard way.


	7. The Lady of Edoras

Running faster than she had ever been forced to run in her life, Lothiriel returned to the Golden Hall shortly before dusk.  Terrified that she would be caught in the darkness alone, Lothiriel made every effort to reach Edoras before the sun set over the horizon.  She was not accustomed to making such journeys on foot; but since her visit to Minas Tirith, during the disastrous treaty celebration, Lothiriel was learning that the boundaries for her personal achievements were not as limited as she once believed.  However, in this instance, she was spurred on by more than just fear for her safety but the desire to reach Edoras and warn them of the Dunlending scout party that had waylaid her and her escorts.

She arrived in Edoras so completely dishevelled that for a moment, the soldiers who came upon her were gripped by the worst suspicions. Fortunately, the lady herself was able to allay their fears that nothing more sinister than a rough trek across open country was the reason for her ragged state.  Still out of breath from her arduous journey, Lothiriel managed to reveal in stilted speech the incident that had seen the death of Vorigen, their commander, and two of their comrades as well.  At first, they were hesitant to believe the situation could be as dire as she believed it to be, and Lothiriel could appreciate that it may be possible that she could have misread the ramifications of the encounter. It did not aid matters much when they learnt how she had managed to escape the Dunlending party.

However, three dead men was nothing to dismiss and Vorigen’s lieutenant, a young man named Reonel, who now found himself Captain of the Guard, despatched a number of warriors to investigate the scene of the incident and make a more adequate determination of the situation. Lothiriel watched them go, praying that she would be proven wrong, but her instincts told her that she was not, and she had come to trust herself in recent months to know danger when she sensed it.  After their departure, she retired to her room where she was provided with a hot bath and a meal.

"Don’t worry dear," Glyneth, the portly matron who had been a housekeeper in the Golden Hall since the days of King Theoden, declared optimistically as she poured more hot water into the tub Lothiriel was presently soaking in "We’ve seen some dark days in Edoras, even before the war with Mordor and things have always turned out all right.  Why, I remember when that no good Wormtongue used to skulk around here, whispering terrible things into the Theoden’s ear and turning him against everyone who cared about him, even young King Eomer. Of course, he loved Theoden like a father and wouldn’t let anything stop him from doing what’s right, even it meant making Theoden angry."

"I hope he is well," Lothiriel said softly, gazing into the soapy water, though she saw little of it.

"King Eomer knows how to take care of himself," Glyneth said reassuringly, secretly delighted that the young woman whom the king so obviously loved (even if he was too foolishly male to admit it), was just as devoted to him as he was to her.  "Do you know that he was one of the youngest men to become Third Marshall of Riddermark? I can’t tell you how proud Theoden was! He raised Eomer and Theodred together you know, so it was just as if he had two sons, not one."

Lothiriel listened to Glyneth giving detailed accounts of Eomer’s younger days, having become accustomed to such stories since her arrival in Edoras. Like any royal court, Lothiriel had come to learn that it was the servants, heralds, stewards and maids who often had a clearer perception of how things functioned in the palace. Through gossip, they also had a wealth of information about the people who presumed to lord over them. Fortunately, it was clear from what she had overheard and been told directly since coming to visit in Edoras, that Eomer was a king greatly loved by its people.

When she finally retired for the night, Lothiriel found she could not sleep.

Despite her best efforts to force herself into the dreamscape, slumber stayed maddeningly elusive. She tossed and turned in her sheets, annoyed because she had certainly earned the rest after what she had endured during the day. Yet her mind could not let go of this feeling of growing dread that something was lurking upon the horizon, something that felt sleep was not a luxury she could afford at this time. When it did finally come, her sleep was restless and plagued with unsettling dreams that were no doubt derived from her waking anxieties.

A harsh pounding on the door in the dead of night tore her from this uncomfortable repose and Lothiriel would have almost been grateful if the reason for her abrupt awakening was anything but what she suspected it was. Climbing out of her bed, Lothiriel snatched a robe as she hurried to answer the door.  Her mind was still somewhat disorientated from her abrupt rousing but the fog was descending swiftly and with clarity came the realization that she could hear more than just the knocking at the door. Muffled by the journey through the walls, the sounds beyond her private chambers spoke of panic and fear.  Excited voices were parrying back and forth, like the footsteps moving up and down the various corridors within the Golden Hall.

Something was happening and Lothiriel felt her heart sink because it could be only one thing.

When she swung the door open, she found herself staring at Reonel. There was blood on his tunic and grime on his face. The heavy musk of sweat was on his skin, an indicator that he had ridden hard on his journey back to Edoras. Without requiring him elaborate, Lothiriel knew he no longer viewed her claim as anything but genuine. He believed because he had seen for himself.

The enemy was coming.

"It appears you were correct my lady, the men who attacked you were indeed a scouting party," he announced sombrely.

"That is unfortunate," Lothiriel sighed, her shoulders sagging.

"We found a second party of Dunlendings when we returned to the place you were attacked. I believe they were attempting to retrieve their comrades’ body to maintain the secret of their presence here. It is extremely fortunate that you left your horse to return here on foot. If they had found you, they would surely have killed you."

Lothiriel shuddered at the thought but found no comfort in this when it was very possible that any proclamations of her safety might be premature. "Are we in danger?" She asked quietly, her question direct enough to indicate that she wanted no shielding from the truth.

"We captured and questioned them," Reonel replied with the frank honesty she desired and hoped it was not a mistake. "They were reluctant to speak the truth but we managed, through the course of night, to convince them otherwise."

Lothiriel needed no clarification on how they were able to convince the Dunlending prisoners to reveal their true purpose. She was the daughter of a royal house and she knew the ugly business of torture even in her sheltered world.  It was a loathsome practice but when the fate of so many hung in the balance, there was little choice but to employ its brutality.

"Vorigen was right? They were a scouting party?" Lothiriel prompted him to speak.

"Yes," he nodded. "They were scouting for an army that has taken refuge within the range of the White Mountains behind Edoras. It is hard, hilly terrain, with no roads or settlements. I believe they chose to come this way for they knew we would not scout it ourselves. Those mountains have always provided us with protection, not a safe haven from which enemies could launch an attack upon us."

"But was not the king riding to meet Lord Bowen to intercept the Dunlendings?" Lothiriel inquired, even more fearful for her love’s safety if this was so.

"This is not the time to discuss it my lady," Reonel declared evasively. "We fear our discovery of the Dunlendings may accelerate their plans for attack.  We are preparing to defend the city and that means you and the rest of the women must get to safety. If you will ready yourself, I will escort you below."

It was clear that Reonel was prepared to discuss nothing until she did as he asked and so Lothiriel conceded any effort to question him further.  In the course of her life, there had been many occasions when she had been sequestered away while the people she loved fought terrible battles beyond sight and hearing.  Although she had been in Edoras but a short time, Lothiriel had made it her business to become familiar with the faces that occupied her king’s world.  As much as she loved him, Lothiriel was forced to concede that it was not simply a wife that he needed at his side, but also a queen.

As she withdrew into her chambers and proceeded to get dressed, Lothiriel thought about her situation in passing. Of course she knew that the choice of her husband was never going to be quite her own. A daughter of a noble house was only good to the kingdom in the alliances that could be forged by marriage.  She knew that while dowries had not been discussed yet, at some point this would become an issue between Imrahil and Eomer.  To Lothiriel it was a fact of life that was seldom discussed by Westernesse women of royal birth. Indeed she had been somewhat surprised by the distaste Queen Arwen had displayed over the entire notion.

Perhaps it was her rebellion against this institution of marriage that had inspired her interest in magic, for becoming an Istar would mean freedom from the perceived slavery of marriage that would be her lot in the years to come.  Even though it had taken a great deal to tax Imrahil’s patience, inwardly, Lothiriel knew that one day she might become a pawn in the games of political alliances.  Imrahil’s insistence she marry Eomer was however, partly her fault.  He had been a doting parent and she had often pushed the limits of acceptable behaviour.  Despite her adamant refusal to marry Eomer in the beginning, Lothiriel knew she had little choice in the matter.  Her father could have married her to anyone he liked and that would have been the end of it.

When she met Eomer for the first time, Lothiriel understood that her father still loved her dearly despite his harsh edict that she would marry whether or not she preferred it.  Contrary to her worst fears, Imrahil’s choice of husband was not some fat, war mongering ogre but rather a young and handsome king, not much older than she, who had was unaccustomed to being around women of noble birth and had been sufficiently prepared by a fiercely independent sister to tolerate a wife of similar nature.  Imrahil knew his daughter far better than Lothiriel apparently knew him because he had not only found her a husband but also someone he knew she could love.

Once she was dressed, Lothiriel emerged into the corridor, delivering herself into the hands of Reonel who promptly led her away from the section of the Golden hall relegated for guests. The palace was a flurry of activity as the mass exodus of women and children were made.  Guests and servants alike were being ushered through the halls of Meduseld towards the catacombs beneath the city. The construction of these had begun shortly after the War of the Ring.  Remembering how close Rohan had come to falling under the might of Saruman’s forces; Eomer had embarked upon a crusade to fortify Rohan from enemies. This included the creation of more watchtowers, more settlements and the expansion of the Rohirrim forces. Edoras as well had not escaped unscathed.

The city itself had always stood upon a hill overlooking the horse plains and grasslands, with the shelter of the White Mountains surrounding it on most sides.  During the orogeny of the region, that is the period of mountain building, the hill upon which Edoras was built had been a part of the White Mountains itself. However through the eons, erosion had worked persistently to disconnect it from the rest of the range and the result was an island of igneous rock that had all the geological characteristics of a mountain but none of its size.  It was only in recent years that these attributes could be exploited for beneath the earth of Meduseld was a series of catacombs that were extremely solid and deep enough to provide a hiding place during instances of attack.

When the Dark Elf, Eol had laid siege to Edoras using the remnants of the Uruk Hai forces belonging to Saruman, most of Edoras’ women and children had found safety within these caves and now that the danger was rekindled in the form of a Dunlending attack.  By the time Lothiriel and Reonel arrived at this hidden enclave, they were a part of a small procession comprising of women and children, from either junctures of the social spectrum who had attached themselves to the Captain of the Guard as he was leading their potential queen to safety. 

It was unknown who had first coined the term ‘catacombs’ for the caverns that existed deep beneath the mountainous island of Edoras but the name held fast and in time, it became known as nothing less. While it was hardly the ideal hiding place for a lady of her status in its comforts, there could be no doubt that deep within the heart of Edoras, this place could offer them protection if the worst came to pass. To reach the catacombs, one had to navigate the maze like tunnels to arrive at a small, nondescript door that could only be found if one knew where to look for it. With the aid of the dwarves of Aglarond who knew far more than anyone else how to fortify places in the deep dark, the entrance to the sanctuary was virtually impossible to find.

The catacombs were dark and imposing and as Lothiriel felt its walls surrounding her, she could not help but shudder in fear a little at spending the next few hours in such close confines. However, she kept her apprehension to herself for she had to be strong. There was enough fear pressing against the walls of this dungeon without her adding her own to it. Lothiriel was also conscious that despite the absence of any announcement of betrothal between them, all of Edoras knew what she meant to Eomer. In this present state of uncertainty, Lothiriel knew that at present, she may be the nearest thing the Meduseld had in the way of a queen and if she was thought of as such, then Lothiriel felt compelled to comport herself in a manner befitting the Lady of Edoras.

The inside of the catacombs were in no way lavish accommodations to spend the interminable hours where they awaited with grave fears the conclusion to the battle that would soon rage above their heads in the rest of the city.  There were adequate supplies to see them through the siege, with water, food and blankets provided to ease them through the ordeal they would endure whilst being in its confines.  The caves were very deep and just how deeply they delved was unknown to anyone but there was no doubt that the main entrance was the only way in.

Though this was not always a good thing.

* * *

With their wives and children hidden away safely, as safely as a city under siege could be, the men of Edoras set about with the defense of their home.  The Dunlendings had surrounded Edoras in a ring of steel, scaling the mountains that had always been a source of protection to the people of the Golden Hall and ensuring that the city would be assailed on all sides.  Unaware that in Lossarnach, a similar situation was unfolding, the Rohirrim warriors quickly rallied the folk of Edoras to launch a formidable defense.

The militia and foot soldiers took up the business of defending the walls facing the mountains. The Dunlendings invaders had spent much of their time in the Misty Mountains, outcast from their tribes and hiding from their enemies. They were accustomed to battle in such terrain and were more than capable of using the steep mountain paths to find their way into Edoras. Thus the defenders of the Golden Hall found themselves positioned along the high walls of the city, preparing for the enemy onslaught with swords, spears and arrows.  Cauldrons of hot oil were being prepared to use against the invaders when the inevitable attempt to scale the walls was made

Even though it was night and the moon was full, the famed horse plains were filled with the light of a hundred torches, firebrands marking the darkness of Edoras’ plight. The Rohirrim wasted no time in rushing out to meet the enemy despite their numbers being less than what they were.  There were still enough of them to ensure that the Dunlendings paid in blood for their decision to attack Meduseld. In recent years, Edoras had faced worse things than the rabble of their Dunland neighbours even if agents of the Easterling Confederacy spurred them on.

Riders had already been sent out to the rest of the Rohirrim, carrying messages to the rest of the Rohirrim at large, informing them of Edoras’ peril and the absence of the King who had been led into a Dunlending trap.  The king’s whereabouts were still unknown but the people of Edoras knew their king and refused to believe that a veteran who had survived the War of the Ring with such distinction would be taken so easily by any ruse. The king was alive and once he discovered the subterfuge of his enemies, would be returning to them with great haste. Of this, none of them had any doubt.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

The sounds of battle penetrated the deep caverns of the catacombs where the women of Edoras awaited in their dimly lit sanctuary trying not to think too deeply about their fates should the tide turn in favour of the enemy.  Despite the muffled noise emanating through the rock, an occasional burst would pierce through their protective shell and provide them with a stark reminder that while they were hidden, they were nowhere safe.  Strangely enough, Lothiriel was not as anxious as the rest of their companions during this period of limbo.  As the daughter of a royal house, the business of being sequestered away in this manner was not new to Lothiriel, since Dol Amroth had from time to time found itself besieged by the Easterlings or Mordor during Sauron’s dark reign.  It was only the place that had changed.

After a few hours, the boredom of huddling together in the dark, wondering whether or not they would live or die had taxed the patience of most and as it was with all of humankind when times were at their worst, the refugees of Edoras began to occupy themselves by making the best of their situation.  Lothiriel found that she was the sole focus of questions from those around her as they looked to her for leadership. It unnerved Lothiriel to realise that they were already regarding her as their future queen, even though her relationship with Eomer was still undeclared. There had been no announcement of betrothal and the absence of the king, despite Lothiriel’s hope that he was well, placed her future status among them in even more question.

Yet she supposed that in such trying times, it was necessary to look to someone who they hoped could offer them strength, even if their faith in her was somewhat misplaced. Lothiriel felt just as much anxiety as they did but was determined that in the absence of Eomer, she would try to do her best for his people and offer them whatever light they needed in this dark hour.

Thus, she saw to their inquiries as best as she could, answering their questions and offering advice where it was needed, using her mother’s example as a guide. Lothiriel issued instructions to Glyneth who ordered the servants to distribute the supplies to those who needed them, and to make everyone as comfortable as possible for the duration of time in this confinement. It was surprising how much assistance remembering her mother’s behaviour during these times provided and Lothiriel tried to project the air of confidence needed to instil the others with a sense of hope that they would survive this ordeal.  She was rather grateful that her recent adventure in Minas Tirith had given her character some much-needed steel.

Inwardly however, she wished it were the Lady of Dol Amroth who was taking charge of this anxious group.  

It was following the evening meal and though they had lost some sense of time, it was generally believed to be evening because the fighting had abated somewhat. Yet, the cessation of noise did not signify the end of the hostilities and until someone came to retrieve them, they could be certain of nothing.  Thus the gathering resigned themselves to the fact that they would probably remain here for rest the night.  Scattering themselves throughout the large chamber near the entrance, distributed blankets were spread across the hard rock. Fortunately, the interior of the chamber was rather dry and though the air was musty, it was somewhat tolerable. 

"I wonder how long will it last?" Glyneth asked no one in particular.

"The longer the better," claimed Odrade, wife to Carleon, the Third Marshall of the Mark.  Her disposition, Lothiriel found since becoming acquainted with the woman, was nowhere as sunny as her golden coloured hair.  Her tongue was sharp and it was clear that her marriage to Carleon had not been of her choosing since she regarded her husband with an air of indifference.

"I do not wish to remain here any longer than necessary," sniffled Katren, Bowen’s youngest daughter who had been sent to Edoras as a possible lady in waiting for Lothiriel. Unfortunately, the girl was terribly homesick and despite Lothiriel’s efforts to accommodate this, she and Katren had not struck up the strength of bond that was necessary for such an attachment. Thus Lothiriel had whispered in Eomer’s ear that perhaps it was time she was sent home since she did not appear at all happy to be so far from her family.

"We are far safer here then we are above," Lothiriel commented, attempting to offer her companions some much needed optimism. "If the Dunlendings have Easterling agents among them, then it will be a battle of great ferocity and it is best that we remain here and out from underfoot."

"It is a terrible place to wait out this ordeal," Katren’s eyes swept across the roof of the cavern and her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"I have been in worse," Lothiriel remarked with an enigmatic smile, remembering how she had followed the Queen of Gondor through the sewers beneath the palace during the business with the shape shifters.

"Worse than this?" Odrade stared at her sceptically.  "When would a daughter of Dol Amroth know such unfortunate circumstances?"

Lothiriel could sense the derision in her voice and ignored it, choosing not to flinch at the edge of the cutting remark.

"Far more than you would think," Lothiriel replied coolly, not about to react in kind. This was hardly the time for such quibbling. "Dol Amroth lies far closer to Mordor than Rohan.  We have greater experience with the Nameless One and his allies than anyone, save perhaps Gondor. During their attacks, our people were often forced into hiding."

"You went to the treaty ceremony in the White City," Katren asked, "Did you see them? The Easterlings? Were they truly barbarians?"

Lothiriel winced inwardly at the remark for she remembered Castigliari, the good man who had been put to death because he had followed his conscience, instead of his loyalty to the king. She did not think he was a barbarian and despite the ferocity of the Easterlings, Lothiriel knew that they were a people who were as civilised as any, even if their ways were sometimes alien.

"They came from a harder world than ours," Lothiriel spoke a moment later after thinking carefully how she should answer, "remember that they have been under the yoke of Sauron for many ages, and before Sauron there was Morgoth. I do not think they have ever had the freedom to be anything than what they are. War is all they know because that is how the dark lords had willed them to be."

"You give them far more charity than they deserve," Odrade snorted in dislike to Lothiriel’s view of them.

"If this is to be a permanent peace amongst the peoples of Middle earth then it is necessary for us to view others for what they are, instead of what we wish them to be. This war will be over and lasting peace will weigh heavily upon how we regard those we defeat. If we treat them badly or make them pay for warring upon us then we will only breed their contempt and precipitate another conflict in the future." Lothiriel answered, surprising herself with how much of political acumen she had absorbed after listening to her father talk of politics throughout the years.

"I think it is far wiser to break them," Odrade declared. "After all, they will not show us the same consideration if we are the losers.  Did you not hear what they did at Lebethron? They murdered the entire village, men, women and children. The women they violated first. Can you really advocate mercy for such atrocities?"

"I do not think that there is any easy answer," Lothiriel answered, feeling just as much disgust for what had been done to the small Gondorian township. "I do not that vengeance will not bring back the dead nor will it make for any lasting peace."

"I wonder if you would be so compassionate if the king really is dead," Odrade met her eyes.

"Do not say that!" Glyneth exclaimed with unabashed horror and her reaction rippled through the faces of those who had heard Odrade’s words. "The king lives!"

"He was led away from Edoras days before we are attacked, I do not think that it was a coincidence," she insisted. "This was by someone’s design."

"Perhaps you are right," Lothiriel said in a calm voice, not wanting to show weakness by displaying her very considerable fears for Eomer’s safety.  "However, I have faith in my king to extricate himself from any predicament."

"Your king?" Odrade raised a brow, "you are not even betrothed yet."

That remark, even more than fears for Eomer’s safety, cut at her but Lothiriel need not have spoken out to defend herself since there was others to do it for her.

"I do not think that there is anyone in court who doubts the king’s feelings for you, my lady," Glyneth declared firmly, not addressing Odrade’s slight directly but determined to speak up for Lothiriel.  "It is this business with the Easterlings delaying his hand. We all see how he looks at you and you are the first woman he had ever shown such interest."

"Thank you," Lothiriel answered giving Glyneth a warm smile, "it was a mutual choice for us to delay. Arranged marriages are often such a trial; and though we like each other well enough, we wanted to know one another a little better before taking any permanent steps."

Odrade said nothing, momentarily cowed but Lothiriel could see that she was sceptical about things remaining so amicable when the marriage had been forged by someone else’s design.  Lothiriel turned away from the woman, deciding that she cared little of what Odrade truly thought because the woman’s acidic words had brought to surface the fears Lothiriel had been harbouring at Eomer’s welfare. She had managed to suppress it for most of her time in this confinement but now it had returned with a vengeance and the Lady of Dol Amroth could think of nothing else.

Closing her eyes shut, Lothiriel offered a silent prayer to her gods that Eomer was alive, because she would be good to no one here if she believed he was not.

* * *

Prayers were offered elsewhere that night in Edoras, with the same hope and longing.  Warriors watching their friends die, determined that their efforts to hold their city would not fail and keeping faith that they would prevail, made similar offerings to the deities they worshipped with reverence.  The length and breath of the city was an expression in violence as Dunlendings forces swept into the Golden Hall and the battle for Edoras moved from its fortifying walls to the very heart of Meduseld.

The defenders had put up a valiant effort to hold off the invaders, but the Dunlendings were too adept at traversing mountain terrain for the Rohirrim to keep them at bay. It was impossible to completely seal off the cradle of mountains in which Edoras stood when the number of the enemy determined to breach Edoras was so great.  Militia and infantry did what they could, ensuring that the Dunlendings paid in blood for every inch of their advance and even though they had managed to penetrate the city, Edoras was by no means taken.

Thus the fighting moved into Edoras itself, in the streets and within the abandoned buildings. Like an infestation of ants, the Dunlendings were soon to be found everywhere and they were aided in part by Easterlings, who were easily recognised by their dark skin and gold adorned bodies. Not since the battle against the Uruk Hai at Helm’s Deep had Edoras fought in such a savage conflict with every street corner and every square becoming yet another arena. Swords clanged loudly as warriors battled each other in taverns and in shops, splattering places that were the height of civilisation with blood and carnage. The streets began to fill with corpses of the fallen. In death the warriors of both factions found some common ground as they lay next to each other, blood mingling in pools across the cobblestone pave.

Outside the city walls, the Rohirrim cavalry were faring much better as they cut down the Dunlending forces with ruthless efficiency. As cavalrymen, the Rohirrim had no peer in Middle Earth in large numbers; their ability to cut a swathe through enemy ranks was nothing less than devastating for they were not only fierce warriors but extremely expedient ones. In battle, the Rohirrim’s ferocity could only be equalled by the Haradrim, and never was this more evident then at this moment, when they battled their Dunlending tribes with only a shadow of their usual strength.

The rogue Dunlending tribesmen who were not dead on the plain were quickly fleeing towards the safety of the Edoras. Within its walls, they could take advantage of the closed surroundings and avoid the onslaught of the Rohirrim warriors. The riders of Rohan gave swift chase, cutting down those who were making their way towards the Golden Hall before they could escape. With the shifting in battlefield, the Rohirrim abandoned the defence of the outer perimeter and took their fight to Edoras itself.

The riders of Rohan were no less fearsome warriors when they were out of the saddle.  As discovered by Saruman and all the enemies of Rohan before him, the ability to these formidable warriors to defend their home against any threat was nothing to take lightly. As the Rohirrim pursued the Dunlending enemy into Edoras, they were just as ruthless within the close quarters of the city as they were on the battlefield beyond the city walls. The arena of their conflict may have altered but the results did not differ greatly.

* * *

When the first sounds were heard, Lothiriel thought that perhaps the fighting had drawn to a close and that they were to be liberated from their confinement at long last. Yet above her head, she could hear the noises that corresponded too greatly with a pitched battle, and suddenly the identity of the persons at the door took on an entirely different urgency.  Happiness at liberation soon descended into anxiety when it became clear that whomever was on the other side of the wall did not know how to activate the mechanism that allowed the entrance to open. Scuffling feet and raised voices soon confirmed that their intruders were not of the Rohirrim but rather the Dunlending invaders.

The reaction of the majority was one of great panic. Cries of fear though muffled were surely audible to the intruders and gave away their presence more clearly than the unopened entrance.  Lothiriel had been just as frightened to discover that their refuge had been compromised and that all that protected them was a wall of rock, which the enemy were soon hard at work trying to breach. However, recent events in Gondor had taught the young woman that she was capable of more than she had once believed possible of herself and with that knowledge drew forth the courage needed to prevail.

"We must move everyone to the back of the cavern," Lothiriel explained when she was finally able to gain some measure of calm from those present.

"What use is that if they know we are here?" Katren had demanded anxiously. While Odrade and Glyneth had managed to retain some sense about them, Katren who was younger and had less experience in such situations, was clearly showing the strain. Lothiriel would not have begrudged Katren her fear if it were not for the fact that her outward anxiety was also affecting the others people in the room and filling it with growing apprehension.

"A great deal," Lothiriel said trying to display more patience than should have been expected from someone of her youth. "The construction of this chamber owes a great deal of assistance to the dwarf folk and they know more about creating entrances than any race alive. If these walls are breached, it will be no way the fault of any door but rather our own. I fear our initial exclamations may have given them us away."

"What do we do?" Someone asked from the group.

"Moving into the rear of the cavern is a good start," Lothiriel repeated herself, drawing courage from Arwen Evenstar’s courage during the infiltration of Minas Tirith by the shape shifters. The Queen of Gondor had kept her head under the worst of circumstances and her leadership was not due to any great feats of dynamism like her husband but rather good common sense advice that Lothiriel would do well to emulate at this time.  "If they think that we have another way out then perhaps they will leave to try and find it. Glyneth," Lothiriel looked to the older woman, "can you please do that?"

"Yes, my lady," Glyneth nodded slightly, wearing a little smile on her face because she was proud of the young woman’s efforts to take charge.

Lothiriel did not note this look of confidence upon Glyneth’s face because she was leading Odrade away. "I do not know whether or not this will hold true," she said is a softer voice.

"Yes," Odrade nodded in agreement. "There are Dunlendings, they know the mountains even better than we do. These chambers were not charted to their fullest and though there was no passage found leading in here, we cannot be certain that they will not find one."

"We need to find a cavern that is sealed on all sides except one," Lothiriel remarked, "then we should seal it behind us. If they do find their way in here, it will be all the protection that we have."

"We could try and leave," Odrade suggested.

"I do not think that is wise," Lothiriel countered staring at the ceiling," the fighting above appears fierce. If we emerge in the open, we may give the enemy an advantage that could cost the Rohirrim the battle. I fear women and children make good hostages."

Both women fell silent for a moment as Glyneth barked orders to the rest of the group and prompted the departure from the main chamber. As they were leaving, there was suddenly a dull but loud thud against the wall. The sound reverberated throughout the cavern, sending shock waves of fear through those present and producing more cries of fear. The percussive sound was repeated and this time, small clouds of dust drifted to the floor after being shaken loose from the ceiling. Small rocks were starting to fall in sporadic intervals with each thud.

"Go!" Lothiriel cried out. "Quickly!"

Her cry sent them running, amidst a flurry of frightened cries and stamping feet. Lothiriel and Odrade did not leave straight away; they lingered further to hear the dangerous creaking of the ceiling. The muffled sound of impact was becoming louder and louder, as if the lack of success by the enemy to break through was firing their determination even more.  More and more debris was shaking itself loose from the darkened corners of the cavern but it was the sound of cracking that gave Lothiriel the greatest cause for concern.

"They may not break through," Odrade replied, taking stock of the debris and dust that was filling the air with its choking particles, "but I do not think that we are in any less danger."

"You are right," Lothiriel nodded, staring in horror somewhat at the fissures that were appearing across the ceiling. "They may not break though but they may bring down the cavern around our ears."

Just as she spoke, a large chunk of rock dislodged itself from the cavern ceiling and came to a thundering crash near them. Lothiriel and Odrade were barely able to throw themselves clear of the impact. Dust filled the air a like blankets of sand and both women were coughing loudly as they struggled to get to their feet, brushing off the fragments of rock that had dug into their skin.  Fortunately, neither were seriously hurt though they were both very shaken.

"We could be buried alive if this continues!" Odrade declared as she helped Lothiriel away from the path of any further debris.

"We will be buried alive!" Lothiriel returned, trying to make herself heard over the pounding against the wall.  "We must stop what they are doing!"

"How do you propose to do that?" Odrade stared at her, wondering where the steel in this girl had suddenly emerged.

Lothiriel did not speak for a moment because her eyes were searching the walls of the catacombs. She could feel the vibrations of rock grinding against rock in protest of the bombardment to which it was being subjected. Each time invaders attempted to collapse the wall, Lothiriel could see another fissure appear. The constructors of the cavern had been shrewd enough to ensure the entrance to the catacombs could not be found but there was no way they could fortify rock.  It would have been a place of safety if the frightened voices had not given themselves away to the enemy who knew now that there was an entrance and were determined to bring down the wall that surrounded it if they could not find it. Perhaps in truth, after the battle of Helm’s Deep and then Uruk Hai invasion of Eol, none of the Rohirrim had expected their city to fall under attack again.

"We must let them in," Lothiriel answered softly.

"Are you insane?" Odrade stared at her in nothing less than shock.

"If we do not let them in, they will continue pounding against the walls under it brings down the entire chamber. We do not know if there is a way out of here, but we cannot allow them to continue their bombardment."

"You cannot be thinking this!" Odrade protested. "Do you know what will happen to us if we let them in?"

"I am perfectly aware of it," Lothiriel returned, reacting to another crash against the wall and its corresponding effects. "However, we have little choice. Can you not hear them above? Our warriors are fighting for their lives up there and their thoughts are too preoccupied with the danger to the rest of the city to even conceive we are in danger. By the time, they realised that we are under threat it may be too late. Look at the ceiling!"

Odrade followed Lothiriel’s gaze and saw that amidst the swirling clouds of dust, mighty cracks were forming in the walls of the chambers and it could not take much more pounding before the entire cavern gave way. As horrifying as the notion of allowing the enemy into their sanctuary, there was the even worse possibility of becoming buried alive in rock. If there was no other way out of the catacombs and like Lothiriel, Odrade suspected there was not, then they would be trapped with no way for even their own people to free them should they win the day.

"What is it you wish us to do if we allow them in?" The woman asked Lothiriel.

"I will need you to take them as far away from this chamber as possible," Lothiriel said quietly, aware of what had to be done even though it frightened her to no end to do it.

She had been steadily refining her abilities and had on previous occasions used them to save her life. She wondered if she could manage another feat of magic once again?  And if she could, how would the people of Edoras view her?  Since her arrival at the Golden Hall, Lothiriel had kept her knowledge of magic somewhat secret. She feared the disapproval of the people who may some day ask to look upon her as queen.  Even when she had used her powers to survive the Dunlending ambush, Lothiriel had been reluctant to speak the truth.  However, she no longer had a choice. If she were to save them, then she would have to use magic to do it.

"To what end?" Odrade asked, staring at her in concern.

"Do not ask questions of me," Lothiriel returned her gaze with the hint of a plea in her eyes.  "I need you to obey me in this. I know that I am not your queen and I have no right to order you to do anything but I beseech you, as a woman and as a daughter of a noble house to do as I ask."

Odrade drew in a deep breath and found herself trusting this young woman whose eyes showed not only her obvious fear but also her conviction. Whatever it was Lothiriel intended to do, Odrade found herself in the position of being forced to believe that she could do it by sheer will alone.  "Once we have hidden ourselves, what then?"

"Then I will deal with them," Lothiriel answered firmly.

"Deal with them?" Odrade looked at her sharply, "how?"

"I have means," she replied evasively. "However, it would be best done when you are all safely hidden away. I may yet fail in what I intend to do."

"What exactly would that be?" Odrade insisted, still skeptical about Lothiriel’s claim and reluctant to abandon her to the enemy, the woman that the entire court of Edoras expected to be the next queen of the Golden Hall.

Lothiriel did not wish to elaborate and with the pounding growing more and more intense, the opportunity to do so was lost with the intermittent fragments of rocks that were breaking free from the ceiling around them. The wall was persistently holding firm but the enemy would not need to breach it in order to kill everyone inside. Their continuous bombardment would ensure that end far more effectively than any opening they could create in the rock.

"There is no time to explain," Lothiriel hissed. "Go now!"

She ushered Odrade through the chambers and watched the woman disappear into the catacomb’s maze of tunnels.

"May Elbereth walk with you," Lothiriel said under her breath and added a moment later, "for she will not be with me after I have done this."

* * *

The king of the Mark returned to his city and found it in the midst of a life and death struggle.

This was of no great surprise to Éomer, since he had more or less anticipated an attack by the Dunlending tribes and had returned to Edoras with great haste in order to combat this offensive.  Since discovering the remains of Bowen and the army that rode under the leadership of the Marshal of the Mark, Eomer had surmised that the alliance of goblins and Dunlending tribesman could have only one purpose, to bring down Edoras and Rohan as Saruman had once tried to do when he united them under the same banner. He and his riders had ridden hard to reach Edoras in time though he was much gratified to see upon his return to the Golden Hal, that his people were quite capable of defending themselves without his presence.

Still, the return of their king had fed the fire of their spirit, and not since the battle of Helm’s Deep had the Rohirrim been polarized with such a powerful desire to vanquish the foe. In the saddle or out of it, the Rohirrim warriors were nothing less than relentless in their thirst for victory. Great swords, arrows, pikes, hammers and other lethal weapons met each other in fearful warfare and the result was blood in every street, bodies covering the floor in such great numbers that it was hard to move.  In close quarters combat, they could feel blades, limbs and the hot breath of the enemy pressing against them and it was a revolt that was paid for in blood.

Eomer and the Rohirrim warriors at his side did not bother to dismount their horses, instead they rode through the gates that were flung open for their king.  Eomer cleared a path through the enemy with his sword, cutting down those who were unfortunate enough not to get clear in time of his blade meeting their flesh.  The others astride their horses carved a similar path of carnage with arrows. Moving forward in tight formation, the warriors knew how to use their mounts and their weapons to the best advantage. Forging a phalanx of swords astride their horses, they ensured that no arrow was capable of penetrating the wall of steel they created as they neared the Meduseld.

By the time Eomer reached the heart of Edoras, the fighting had contracted to the walls of the Golden Hall.  A good many Dunlendings had entered the palace in the hopes of securing hostages they may use to parlay their demands. However, their foothold was weak; as it was more than likely than the women and children of Edoras were already secreted in the catacombs beneath the city. Still, those defences had yet to be tested under these circumstances and Eomer feared that the fortifications might not be as formidable as those to be found in Helm’s Deep.

Upon reaching the Golden Hall, Eomer and the rest of the Rohirrim riders was a swarm of armoured bodies against the fur clad Dunlending wild men.  The king of the Mark, still stinging from injuries received when they had encountered the goblins led the charge through the remaining warriors. He could hear the Dunlending war cry through the halls of Meduseld and fought his way up the steps of the royal palace overlooking the city. 

"Hurry!" Someone shouted on top of his lungs. "They are attempting to breach the catacombs!"

_Lothiriel!_

Eomer thought in panic and swung his blade with such a mighty stroke at the enemy before him that they were cut in half. Blood splattered across the ornate design of his armour as he turned to the men nearest to him and barked loudly at them to follow him.  Knowing what their king intended as well as what was at stake, they pressed on through the fighting to reach his side and follow him into the Golden Hall.  After all, it was their wives and children who were taking refuge beneath the city as well.

* * *

The door opened.

The heavy stone slab scrapped loudly against the gravel-covered floor when the mechanism to activate it was finally set in motion. Lothiriel watched the entrance appear from the other side of the chamber, ensuring that she remained unseen as the prey passed through the doorway of rock.  Hidden in the shadow of the dimly lit room, she could smell her fear as palpably as she could smell the terror of those cowering in the darkness further along the caverns. She hoped that they had hid well for if she failed, they would have no protection from the wild men moving deeper into the chamber.

Lothiriel closed her eyes to settle her great terror at being alone with them. They had not seen her yet, but it would not be long before that situation altered. Even now, she could hear their footsteps against the dirt growing louder with each passing second. The air that until now had been cool and dank suddenly became warm and lusty, producing beads of moisture against her forehead and beneath her nose. She knew that its cause was most likely her fear rather then the temperature but she gave no further thought on this because she had work to attend.  Trembling so hard that it was near impossible to do what was necessary, Lothiriel forced herself to utter the chant and concentrate.

They were coming!

She could hear their approach and knew that in seconds they would discover her and when they did…

 _Stop this!_  She told herself with surprising venom.  _Do what must be done, or not you or anyone else will survive!_

Lothiriel closed her eyes shut, causing tears and sweat to run down her cheeks as she focussed hard, drawing all her strength and contracting it into a ball of thought that would see her will done. Her fists clenched, nails dug into her palms, drawing blood as flesh tore. Her lips muttered softly the words needed to be spoken. She dare not speak any louder because she feared alerting them to her presence, but knew nothing would stop that once they were inside and they were coming closer.

The Dunlending wild men surged into the chamber, smelling the residue of bodies pressed closely together before the debris of dust and stone had masked a good deal of it away. Their eyes searched the dim light of the cavern and found quickly their prey, a lone female at the far end of the chamber, stricken with so much fear that her pale skin was almost white. They moved in closer, determined that she would be the first of many they would lay claim to when suddenly, the ground beneath them became soft as mud. Confusion set in as they began to sink, until they could feel sand filling their boots and swirling around their ankles.

Confusion gave way to panic when it was discovered that they had not stopped sinking and the ground no longer had cohesion. Closely compacted earth suddenly developed the consistency of mud and their weight was dragging them into it with each step they took.  Someone cried out to retreat but by then the sand was inching past their waists and the ground was rising up to meet them. Cries of indignation and disbelief soon degenerated into screams of terror as some realized the terrible end they were about to experience. Like men drowning, they clawed at the air as their bodies sunk deeper into the ground, too frightened by the dying to come to recognise that the person responsible for it was watching with just as much horror.  They screamed and they fought desperately, making it no further across the chamber than the middle of it and as their voices grew hoarse and thready, it was silenced by the flow of sand into their open mouth.

Lothiriel was weeping because she had not seen when she had first done it. She had closed her eyes shut and kept it that way until the deed was done. However, on this occasion, the number of them required concentration and her sight. She had to watch to see it done properly. She was exhausted beyond reason for she was no Istar. She understood that she had some power, no doubt a legacy of her elven heritage but not enough to equal a true Istar like Gandalf the Grey or Pallando who now dwelt in Isengard.  She saw their eyes wide with terror as their throats filled up with dirt, their fingers clawing desperately at the air even when their heads had disappeared into the ground, and knew that she would never forget the sight of them for the rest of her life.

When they were dead, when the screams were silent, Lothiriel who had been crouched low when she had conducted her spell, collapsed upon the dry earth weeping even harder. If she had killed them with a sword it could not have felt as bad as this moment, when she had used magic to extinguish the light of lives. She had only wished to help those around her with her abilities, to be more than simply another vapid noble women with no ambition other than to live a life of subservience to a husband. She had never wished, however, to kill.

She did not know how long she sobbed there in the dirt, oblivious to all until she heard more footsteps and raised her face, streaked in tears and dirt, thinking that perhaps more Dunlendings had come. If they killed her perhaps it was not undeserved. She had a great deal of blood on her hands even if none had been spilled. However, when she saw the faces coming into the light and who led them, she let out another loud sob. This one was not mired in anguish but rather relief.

Eomer and the rest of his men saw the scene before them, the hands protruding from the earth as if someone had chosen to plant men in the ground the way one would do to seedlings. This was nothing less than sorcery and how this had come to pass was a matter of confusion to everyone but Eomer who knew what his lady was capable of, though he had never thought her strong enough to do this. It did not frighten him as much as worry him about what her state of mind would be after being forced into this position. She was gentle, his lady, incapable of intentionally hurting anyone unless she was driven to protect the people she loved.

"Eomer!" She cried out, her voice half filled with happiness at seeing him and half anguished at his seeing what she had done.

Eomer sheathed his sword and crossed the space between them in a matter of seconds. She ran into his arms, uncaring about propriety or gossip. Neither did the king care when he swept her into his embrace and held her close, knowing that in the wake of what he saw here, she would need one. Lothiriel buried her face in the crook of his shoulder and wept softly as the men around her king discreetly moved past them to search for more of their women, no doubt hiding in the catacombs.

"You are alive," she whispered softly when they had parted, her lips quivering as she spoke. "I feared the worst when no word was heard from you."

"I would like to believe that it would take more than goblins to bring about my death," he joked, making no attempt to remove his arms from her waist. Feeling her next to him was too good, and suddenly brought home how precious she was to him. "Besides, how could I do anything as inconvenient as dying when I have you to return to?" He smiled, raising her chin so that she could see the depth of emotion reflected in his eyes.

"Do you still want me, after what I have done?" She turned away, blinking tears down her cheeks as she regarded the dead men trapped beneath the earth.

"What you have done," Eomer replied, "is save yourselves from the ministrations of barbarians who would done great harm to you and the others taking refuge here. I do understand what you did was for the good of all."

"I didn’t mean to!" Lothiriel exclaimed, still horrified by what she had done. "But they started pounding at the walls and each time they struck it, the ceiling shook and began to crumble. I feared that if I did not do something, it would fall upon our heads and bury us all alive!"

"I know," Eomer said gently, seeing that the death of these men, even if deserved, preyed heavily upon her mind and reminded himself that every warrior who was blooded for the first time reacted in a similar fashion. It was no small thing to take a life and though it may be necessary, it was never easy to one whose heart was good and noble. "I cannot say the words that will make this easier for you my love, but in times of war we must all do what is required of us. I know this was not easy for you to do but you have protected my people and yourself from harm and for that I cannot be anything but grateful for what you have done."

"Then I will try to feel put this behind me," Lothiriel swallowed thickly, deciding that what was done was done and that there was nothing to do but live with the consequences. However, she knew deep in her heart that never again would she be able to look upon the business of magic as anything but a double-edged sword that had the power to not only create life but also destroy it.


	8. The Choices of Legolas Greenleaf

The retreat from Lossarnach was not even past the hour when Haradrim riders set out upon their fastest mounts to the encampment of their Easterling comrades. Since the destruction of Lebethron, the army responsible for the destruction of the small township had marched quickly to South Ithilien, taking refuge a good distance away from the colony of Eden Ardhon to avoid discovery whilst they awaited further orders. The orders from their leader during their last council of war before departing their lands had been clear. Once the destruction of Lebethron was complete, they would do nothing further until the word was given.

 

To this end, they had been forced to wait in secret, and it was no easy feat to accomplish because elves were known to be of keen eye and senses. Yet remain hidden they did, mostly in part because they were far enough away from the enemy to assure anonymity. Taking refuge in the hills flanking the Harad Road, they waited there patiently by the banks of the Poros, using the great river to sustain them and their mumakils. The beasts could have easily turned the tide of the battle in Lossarnach but their supreme commander had a better use for them to which every Easterling agreed once they understood his plan.

 

Three riders set out from the Haradrim refuge at the foothills of the White Mountains. The journey would see them travelling along the flow of the Anduin before crossing the river into South Ithilien. They would avoid at all costs, the great wood where the elven folk of Eden Ardhon held dominion and continue to the camp of their Easterling brothers to give them the orders they had been awaiting for so long. The Easterlings were burning to fight and though their purpose in South Ithilien would be anything but a battle, the outcome meant as much as any great conflict fought between armies since the beginning of time. This had been a contingency planned since before they had set out from their homelands and it felt strangely satisfying to be finally given leave to set it in motion.

 

Of the three that embarked upon the journey, only two were able to reach their destination some days later. It was anticipated that they might encounter difficulties along the way, which was why three had been sent instead of one. However, when one had failed to arrive at their destination, it mattered little because they cared not who knew the content of the message carried. Time was with them and they knew that the armies of Gondor, Ithilien and Rohan were too preoccupied with concerns of their own to give them opposition when it came time for the Easterlings to move.

 

The message spoke only a few words but it was more than enough. Orders and plans of attack had been formulated and issued long before the Easterling and their Haradrim allies had parted company. This occasion was no exception. Of all the attacks they had planned with elaborate devices set in place to deceive, this one in truth was the hardest and perhaps the greatest gamble of them all. How the Easterling attack was perceived by those who mattered, would decide the course of the war and the future of the Reunified Kingdom.

 

They wasted no time once the message reached them, pausing long enough to familiarize themselves and their warriors with the plan of attack. Some had serious misgivings about what they were about to do. It was one thing to rape and pillage a small community of humans but quite another thing entirely to launch an offensive against an elven city, even a fledgling one. Far worse than the attack was the brutality that they were required to dispense once the attack was underway. The Easterlings were not by nature a barbarian race and while they viewed the destruction of Lebethron as a necessary evil, not many were entirely happy that they were driven to such savagery.

 

The dawn’s light saw them setting out from their hiding place and knew that it would only be a matter of days before they arrived at their destination. No longer afraid of moving in the light, these army would make great haste in its journey and arrive there well ahead of any other force, in the unlikely event there was any to be spared in these troubled times. They anticipated opposition but had sufficient numbers amongst them to overwhelm the enemy when they arrived. They knew their opponents well and had taken no chances with their ability to defeat such effective warriors. It had been almost three thousand years since the Easterlings had faced the enemy and the tales of their skill in battle was not to be underestimated. However, the Easterlings had ensured that this time, there would be no defeat.

 

Because it would be the numbers that decided how the battle would play.

* * *

 

Following the victory at Lossarnach, Aragorn had allowed for little more than a day of rest for himself before he embarked upon the business of dealing with the Haradrim army who was still roaming freely through Middle earth. The arrival of Faramir and the Rohirrim cavalry had turned the tide of the battle and though it took most of the night, they were finally capable of bringing the rampant fires under some kind of control. The toll upon Lossarnach however was considerable. There was not one corner of the city that was not ravaged by destruction Aragorn found as he surveyed the destruction after the last embers of flame had finally cooled. It would be a long time before the city could take its place as a centre of beauty once again.

 

However, not all news was bad. They received word from Rohan that King Eomer had returned to Edoras safely and that a Confederacy inspired attack by Dunlending tribesmen had been thwarted with the wild men being annihilated by the Rohirrim warriors. There was also some unexpected assistance from the dwarves of Aglarond. Aware that their lord would approve of their actions, the dwarves had offered military aid in ridding the Rohirrim of the goblins who had slain Bowen and his army in the White Mountains. The dwarves, who were aware that the safety of Rohan was as much their business as the Rohirrim, had elected to join the conflict and ensure that no other race of the Black Speech took refuge in any mountain of Rohan.

 

This news was a source of great pride to Gimli who was rather surprised that they would undertake such a course on their own volition, but quickly claimed that dwarves were a sensible lot and they knew when they were needed in a fight. Meanwhile, Imrahil had taken the army towards Gondor, fortifying the defences around the White City in the event the enemy chose to make an attempt to invade Minas Tirith after its failure at Lossarnach. Faramir and the Rohirrim however, would be remaining Lossarnach and join the king in his hunt for the Haradrim enemy who appeared to have vanished from sight.

 

“Well at least Rohan is safe,” Aragorn declared over the table that belong to the great hall of what was once Lord Fenreg’s castle. The young Steward was now one of the many hundreds that had been buried over the past days in the wake of the attack. “However, it concerns me greatly that the enemy was able to gain the support of the goblins of Moria.”

 

“Their number is still large despite our best efforts to vanquish them,” Gimli frowned. He had led a party to expunge their infestation of Moria but like all vermin, they were difficult to exterminate completely. With so much dead already in Moria, the dwarves had chosen to abandon it to the ages rather than attempt to tame it. “Fortunately with the end of the Balrog, their desire to expand their borders seemed to have disappeared.”

 

“I fear that will change,” Aragorn sighed. “This Haradrim king is no fool. He has drawn support from all our enemies, even the goblins of Moria. It is a good thing that your people had chosen to aid the Rohirrim Master Gimli. They could use the help.”

 

“It is true,” Faramir agreed. “The Rohirrim are not mountain folk, they fight better in on plains. With the aid of your people Gimli, they can defend themselves a good deal better and you will be afforded their protection as well.”

 

“Yes,” Gimli nodded. “A decidedly sensible arrangement for everyone concerned. My people are often reluctant to get involved in such battles but if we are to live in Rohan then we should be neighbourly about it.”

 

“I am certain that Eomer will appreciate it,” Aragorn replied, taking a deep puff of his pipe. “I am glad to hear that he was unhurt.”

 

“If his sister is anything to go by, they breed them tough in Rohan.” Gimli smiled as he downed a goblet of wine.

 

“I will concur,” Faramir laughed and then become slightly reflective as he thought of Eowyn and wondered how she fared. A pang of longing surfaced inside of him for his golden haired shield maiden and hoped there would be opportunity to return to Ithilien to see her. “Imrahil was terribly grateful that Lothiriel was unharmed.”

 

“Shouldn’t they be married by now?” Gimli asked.

 

“That is better answered by my wife than I,” Aragorn replied with a little smile. “I confess when the conversation falls to gossip about who is to wed who, I think it is time to retire for the evening.”

 

“Their strategy is clear however,” Faramir said making a move to a more serious subject. “They are attempting to scatter the council.”

 

“Agreed,” Legolas stated firmly. “Your nemesis in this is a crafty one Aragorn. He seeks to divide us by attacking each of our realms. In my case, it was a warning but there can be no doubt as to his intentions.”

 

“I wish we knew more about him,” Aragorn frowned easing further into his chair as he thought about his encounter with Haradrim leader. “He appears to be a man of the Sunlands but he was a Haradrim. It takes a formidable man to unite all those disaffected voices. We must be doubly on our guard after this.”

 

“He was certainly formidable when we fought,” Gimli replied, stroking his beard as he recalled their battle and how close he had come to losing his life at the man’s hands. “His people are willing to die for him Aragorn and that is something I have never seen before. The Haradrim underling took his place beneath my axe without question. I do not think even Sauron commanded that much loyalty.”

 

“Perhaps he does not command them with the fear of the sword but rather with respect,” Legolas pointed out. “You of all people know how fiercely soldiers will fight for a king that they love greatly. If this king has engendered this kind of affection then we are looking at entirely different war. Aragorn,” Legolas met the king of Gondor’s eyes, “this may take years and it will never stop until one side wins.”

 

“I know,” Aragorn nodded sadly. “I wished with all my heart that it had not come to this, but it has and you are right old friend. There will be no peace unless it is enforced by a final and complete defeat of the Easterling Confederacy.”

 

The mood became as sombre as the dead and for a few minutes no one spoke until Gimli reached across the table and poured himself more wine from the flagon before them.

 

“Let’s us not discuss this any further tonight,” the dwarf said with all the cheer he could muster, which was quite considerable when he put his mind to it. It was almost impossible to keep from being affected. “We cannot do anything about it, and it will do us no good dashing our heads against the wall over troubles we cannot repair until the morrow.”

 

“For a dwarf, you make an uncommonly good deal of sense,” Legolas teased.

 

“Well more than a damn elf can that’s for certain,” the dwarf retorted.

 

Aragorn and Faramir rolled their eyes in resignation, more than accustomed to the bantering by the members of two supposedly ‘older’ races.

 

“And they say men lack maturity,” Aragorn snorted in Faramir’s direction.

 

Faramir was about to respond when suddenly, bursting through the door was Nunaur. The march warden of Eden Ardhon appeared positively ashen as he entered the room and sought immediately to reach Legolas’ side. In his hand, he clutched a small scroll of paper. His grip around it was so tight that it was almost a fist and the parchment was crushed under the weight of his fingers.

 

“What is it?” Legolas demanded, his heart starting to pound at the foreboding he could see in Nunaur’s face.

 

“We intercepted a rider while scouting for the Haradrim,” Nunaur spoke, quite out of breath. It was quite obvious that he had rode hard from where he had been to reach them and had barely paused for rest. “The rider was heading southwards, carrying this. I managed to pry the truth from him and learnt that he was but one of three carrying the same message.”

 

“What message?” Aragorn spoke, becoming just as anxious as Legolas.

 

The lord of Eden Ardhon took the crushed parchment in his hand and read the contents. His eyes widened slightly, and the aloof mask that they were so accustomed to seeing upon his features dropped completely and in its place was nothing less than blind panic.

 

“READY MY HORSE!” Legolas shouted as he tossed it away and started towards the door.

 

“I ordered it as soon as I arrived,” Nunaur answered, following his lord with complete ignorance of the fact that they were not alone.

 

“Legolas!” Aragorn cried out but neither elf was listening as Legolas strode out of the room with Nunaur following close behind. Their footsteps could be heard breaking into run as they drew further and further away. Aragorn reached the scroll of paper first when it appeared that no answer was forthcoming. He picked it up and registered the same horror as Legolas.

 

“Faramir,” Aragorn said softly, but his voice was cold as ice. “Get the men ready, we ride within the hour.”

 

Faramir knew the look in his king’s eyes well enough to make no effort at questioning the request. “As you will.”

 

“What does it say?” Gimli demanded, his patience able to bear it no further.

 

“It says,” Aragorn managed to speak through gritted teeth. “Show no mercy to Eden Ardhon.”

* * *

Life in Eden Ardhon continued, in much the way it had since the colony was established, despite the conflict beyond its borders. The business of establishing a new elven kingdom in the woods of South Ithilien continued and though it had been many months since they settled here, there was still so much work to be done. For many of the elves led here by Legolas from the kingdoms of Lothlorien and Mirkwood, Eden Ardhon was a chance to accomplish something that elves rarely had opportunity to do, something completely new from start to finish. Most of the elves that had journeyed with Legolas to this distant realm had been born after the establishment of elven kind in Middle earth. They existed in cities already built and there was little that could be contributed that would echo with their distinct voice.

 

Here in Eden Ardhon was a chance to create some unique in the face of their diminishing presence in Middle earth. It was no surprise that many of the elves that had chosen to remain instead of sailing into the Undying Lands were relatively young, being no more than three millennia old. While to men and dwarves, this may seen like an age, for the elves this was still a time of youth, and the ability to express it without the eye of their elders reminding them of how it was all done before was a wonderful opportunity indeed. Of course, this did not mean that they were immature in any way or lacking good sense. Three thousand years had given them a good deal of experience in all things and there was just enough jaded essence in them to walk on the side of caution.

 

It was the scouts who first caught sight of the Easterling army in all its terrible strength. The elves had suspected that there might be enemies in their midst but not even they had anticipated the true volume of their enemy’s number. Only a small force had attacked the village of Lebethron because a small force was all that was needed for such an insignificant target. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of the invaders who quickly surrounded the wood of Eden Ardhon and began a process of burning the trees that enclosed the community in a wall of flame.

 

The gift of foresight had allowed the elves to sense that some peril was drawing close. In these troubled times, they were quick to dispatch scouts beyond the boundaries of their territory to determine the exact nature of this so far unseen threat. As they drew closer to the edge of the great wood in which Eden Ardhon had made its home, the greater the sense of urgency became until it was so palpable that they could choke upon its fumes. Its potency was thick as it was completely encompassing. It surrounded them on all fronts, like a ring of fire contracting around them with each passing second.

 

Upon the scouts’ return to Eden Ardhon, the order for evacuation was given though all were still somewhat astonished that it had come to this. Not for three millennia had the race of men attempted to war against the elves so openly and the time had lulled the Eldar into complacency. Lothlorien, Mirkwood and Imlardis had protection of its own, ensuring that an enemy could never breach its borders to cause its people harm. Eden Ardhon was too new for such enchantments and the prospect of invasion was so new to many of them, that coping with it was not easy. Nevertheless, there was presence of mind to make an effort at evacuation though the enemy quite effectively severed their routes of escape. The only way left to them was by river, and there were not nearly enough boats to facilitate the evacuation of everyone from the colony.

 

By the time it became clear to the elves they would have to fight, half of their number were sailing down the River Poros, away from the danger. What remained was the entire arsenal of warriors in Eden Ardhon who had elected to positioned themselves around their home in a defensive perimeter and hold the line against the army that hopelessly outnumbered them. The rest hid where they could, using their skill as elves to mask themselves in the trees, hoping that would be enough to save them from the onslaught of what was becoming inevitable.

* * *

 

Melia could not find Anna.

 

The child had fled when news had returned from the scouts of the eminent Easterling invasion. As evacuation became necessary, Melia had desperately searched the community for the child, enlisting a number of elves to her cause. The little girl had an almost elvish ability to remain hidden and it was more than frustrating to a Ranger of her skill to be unable to discern where the child had taken refuge. Melia was under no illusions as to why Anna would behave in such a fashion, not when the same enemies who had ruthlessly murdered her family and her entire village were close to wreaking the same destruction upon the Eden Ardhon. The little girl probably thought that she was safer finding her own hiding place then any that could be found by an adult.

 

After all, it had served her well enough before.

 

“I cannot find her!” Melia told Miriel and Vienne who had been helping her with the search. Time was running out. They could hear the rumbling approach of the mumakils all around them. Melia, who had been raised since childhood to know how formidable these beasts were in battle, was painfully aware of how little time they had to find Anna and hide, if hiding was at all possible.

 

“She must have hidden in the woods,” Miriel declared, sweeping her gaze across the length and breadth of Eden Ardhon, as if this effort would be more successful than the last dozen attempts. “We may have to widen our search to the forests.”

 

“I do not know if that is wise,” Vienne returned with overt fear in her eyes. The approach of the enemy was growing louder in their ears, more so to an elf with far better hearing that a human. “The enemy appears to be close. We may not be able to reach her in time if she is wandering in the wood.”

 

Melia took a deep breath, debating what to do. Part of her was torn by her responsibility to Miriel, Vienne and the other women who were still in Eden Ardhon who had not managed to escape because they had run out of boats. While most were now sailing down the Poros to safety, there was still enough remaining in Eden Ardhon to give the enemy their brutal sport. Melia herself was carrying her crossbow, prepared to join the elven warriors presently doing battle beyond the perimeter of the city. They were conducting their battle from the trees, but with the advent of the mumakils, it was not going to be easy to defend Eden Ardhon. The other part of her however, wanted to find Anna before the tragedy that had encompassed the little girl’s family claimed her as well.

 

However, she was also wife to Legolas Greenleaf, Lord of Eden Ardhon and in his stead, she would have to do what was best for the all despite her need to save the one.

 

“We have to find shelter. The trees are our best recourse at the moment,” Melia swallowed thickly, making the anguished decision she prayed she would not face. “We must ensure that we are hidden before the enemy arrives.”

 

”Do you think they will breach out defences?” Vienne asked anxiously, her fear beginning to override her experience.

“Almost certainly,” Melia nodded grimly, reaching for a bolt from her crossbow and promptly arming the weapon. “Our warriors may be able to slow down the Easterlings but they will not stop them. Their numbers are to great in warriors and in mumakils.”

 

“What about Anna?” Miriel asked, staring at her.

 

“I will find her after you are all safe,” Melia answered while trying to hide just how much she loathed making the choice to abandon her search for the child for now.

 

Miriel’s expressions softened, showing Melia sympathy but the Ranger would have none of it. Instead, Melia directed her attention to gathering the remaining populace of Eden Ardhon in order to find safe hiding places for them. The enemy was closing in from all directions and while the elves knew the woods well, they could not hide indefinitely from the warriors and beasts flooding the forests.

 

“We go to the river,” Melia suggested as she led a large group of women towards the River Poros. “I know we cannot sail away but those who can, should try and swim across. The waters of Poros may be deep enough for the mumakils to avoid. These beasts can swim but it will make ferrying warriors across difficult and that is a disadvantage we dare not ignore.”

 

The Poros was a deep river with strong currents. Part of the reason Legolas established his colony here was due to the proximity of the River Poros. The Poros was deep enough for ships to sail its waters and its path took it to the Anduin and to the sea. To the elves for whom the call of the sea was strong; access to it was an absolute necessity. When it came time for Eden Ardhon to see the departure of the elves, it would be from here that they would sail to the Undying Lands in their grey ships.

 

Melia did not like the idea of anyone trying to swim across but it was risk some of them had to take. She knew her people better than anyone present despite their long spanning existence. She knew that Easterlings could be brutal and if she did not succeed in sending away as many as possible to safety, then Lebethron’s fate would truly be their own. Reaching the waters of the Poros, the river was surging ahead with its usual vigour. The Poros saw its origins in the mountains of Ephel Duath and built the strength of its flow from those lofty heights.

 

“It is too strong!” Vienne exclaimed. “Surely we cannot swim across it!”

 

“Some of us have to try!” Melia returned, addressing all the women present. “Those of you who think you can make it across, do so. The current being what it is ensures that the mumakils will be reluctant to follow. However, their size may make up for that advantage.”

“Look!” Miriel shouted, capturing their attention immediately.

 

Melia turned around and saw what Miriel was pointing at with such fear. Columns of smoke were rising into the afternoon sky. Thick, black columns were maligning the blue sky and tainting the air with the stench of cinders. The elven ladies watched this destruction with horror as did the wife of their lord, who knew at that moment how determined the enemy was to ensure that none of them escaped.

 

“They’re burning the forests!” Someone shouted. “They’re going to raze it about our ears!”

 

Unfortunately, there was little Melia could say to refute this statement because it appeared that was the truth. The Easterlings had considered their prey well and knew that the trees would offer the elves protection if they were forced to fight. With a ring of flame surrounding them on all directions, they would be herded against the river, penned with a wall of water behind them.

 

“Swim!” Melia turned around and barked furiously. “Those who can make it, go now!”

 

Her sharp demand sent a few women, including Vienne, hurrying to the water’s edge, divesting themselves of their shifts until only their underthings kept them from being completely immodest. Unfortunately, there was no other alternative for their weight had to be light in order to make the crossing. It would be difficult enough without the added burden of too many clothes, diminishing their efforts. Melia watched a good number of them cross with a sigh of relief.

 

“You should go,” Miriel remarked as Melia turned on her heels and started down the path towards the woods once again.

 

“I cannot,” Melia frowned and noted that the others were following her. Her thoughts were racing because she did not know what else to do. No doubt the elven warriors had difficulties enough battling the rampaging forces closing in Eden Ardhon without the added worry that a gaggle of women were still trapped with no means of escape.

 

“You are Lord Legolas’ wife,” Miriel said firmly, “you should think to your own safety!”

 

“I cannot!” Melia returned sharply. “I cannot swim!”

 

“What?” Miriel stared at her in disbelief. For a human, Melia was one of the most capable people that Miriel had ever met. Despite her short life, the Ranger who had captured the heart of Legolas Greenleaf was one of the most experienced people she knew and commanded respect from those who knew her, even if they had first deemed her unworthy of their prince. “How is it you cannot swim?”

 

“I come from the Sunlands where water is not entirely available in large enough quantities. What there is, we use to bathe and drink. To use water as a form of recreation is wasteful. So I never learnt,” Melia frowned, remembering how she had been forced to break that bit of news to Legolas the first time.

 

“That is unfortunate,” Miriel frowned, still rather surprised that Melia was incapable such a simple thing. “It appears we are going to have to fight if we cannot leave here.”

 

“I refuse to believe that,” Melia declared and thought quickly. There had to be a way to remain safe. Eden Ardhon was not forests and trees. She thought quickly of all the maps that had been charted, the paths that she had committed to memory out of sheer habit when the forests was being surveyed. She remembered the winding paths, the glen of great oaks, and the meandering streams that saw its life from the Poros. There had to be something in the wilderness that could offer her a refuge!

 

“Wait,” Melia de when it suddenly came upon her, a slim hope at best but it was better than nothing. “Did not Gimli say that there was a quarry of rocks nearby when we were building the gathering hall?”

 

“Yes,” Miriel nodded remembering the fanfare it had required to move the stone slabs to Eden Ardhon. “But it is hardly a quarry, more a collection of large rocks. I do not even think that there are caves there.”

 

“It is better than nothing!” Melia declared seeing some light at the end of their dark tunnel of circumstance. “Come everyone! Follow me, we go westward!”

 

There was little choice but to latch upon this slim hope and Melia hoped that it would provide enough them with enough shelter for her to decide what they had to do next. The path back to the quarry required their journey through Eden Ardhon and Melia hoped the enemy was still being kept at bay. Smoke was so thick in the air that it was difficult to see anything with clarity as clouds of grey drifted past them with its noxious fumes. A poisonous fog of ash had settled over the colony and though the forests were far from being completely engulfed in flame, the damage was starting to become noticeable.

 

They were moving through the buildings when Melia noticed the elves stiffening in fear. Most of the womenfolk were armed although not many could wield a weapon with great skill. Elven women rarely found themselves in a position of vulnerability and only a handful ever learnt how to further their ability to fight. Arwen had been one of these exceptions because she had grown up with the spectre of Celebrian’s abduction by orcs. The queen of Gondor had sworn that she would never be so vulnerable and had with Legolas’ aid taught herself to fight though initially it was a matter of great consternation to her father. More than anything, Melia wished Arwen were here. The Evenstar had more than skill at her disposal, she had a sharpness of mind that Melia felt was sorely needed at this moment.

 

Melia knew how to fend for herself, not for a whole.

 

“What is it?” Melia asked, though she had an idea what it was that had captured the elven women’s attentions so completely.

 

“We are not alone,” Miriel whispered, drawing a dagger from the belted sheath around her waist.

 

“Everyone stay close!” Melia ordered.

 

A blanket of silence fell over them that seemed to drown the cackling of the fires in the distance, the thunderous approach of the mumakils and the voices of men and elves battling fiercely for this smoke filled domain. The elven women were deathly afraid, she could see it in their eyes and while she possessed none of their senses, she could feel the reason for this anxiety. It was pressing up against them like the walls of a cage, trapping them.

 

The Easterlings were in Eden Ardhon.

 

When they came out of the smoke, there were so many that Melia could not keep track of them. She reacted immediately, amidst the screams of fear as the Easterling warriors closed in on the women of Eden Ardhon. Melia aimed her crossbow at the enemy and began releasing steel bolts through the air with more speed than she thought herself capable. She saw one elven woman being attacked, Nóriëinya, Melia recalled briefly before she sent a bolt from her crossbow straight into the skull of Nóriëinya’s attacker. The maid squealed in fright as blood splattered over her but her cries were cut short when one of her more sensible sisters grabbed her hand and dragged her away from danger. Melia loss sight of them when she saw something approach from the corner of her eye and dealt with it.

 

However as she staved off one attacker, she could hear the screams of her companions who were not so successful. Miriel was slashing wildly with her dagger at an Easterling warrior and Melia was almost ready to believe that she was safe when another reached out of the fog behind the elven women and grabbed the arm holding the offensive weapon. Once trapped, Melia could only watch helplessly as the other Easterling struck the elven maid hard, knocking her almost unconscious.

 

“Miriel!” Melia shouted and prepared to shoot when she felt something slam into her shoulder. The pain was beyond belief as the arrow speared the space where her arm met her body. Melia staggered, unable to hold her crossbow with the strength she needed. The archer of this attack soon made his appearance and though she appeared weakened, Melia was far from helpless. Kicking her foot out, she connected with his knee and brought him to the ground. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she swung the crossbow against his face, ensuring there was enough force behind the weapon to shatter bone. He felt backwards bleeding and Melia finished him off swiftly by impaling him through the chest with a bolt still waiting to be ejected.

 

When she looked up, she could no longer see Miriel but she could hear the screaming. The terrible screams, full of pain, despair and anguish as the women who had been subdued were forced to endure a torture far worse than any death.

 

“Miriel!” Melia screamed again, tears running down her face because the smoke was so thick, she could see little ahead of her and losing sight of her companions now held the worse possibilities. Miriel did not answer her but Melia could hear her cries.

 

Suddenly, something else caught Melia’s attention far more acutely than the horrific screams of her violated companions. A sharp, shrill cry that could only come from one person in all of Eden Ardhon. Bleeding and in pain, Melia forced herself to pick up her crossbow as she ran towards the direction of the helpless screams. It was easy to distinguish the terrified cried amidst of so many others because Melia knew the difference between them. She ran forward, blood still frothing from her wounded shoulder, the arrow cutting deeper into her flesh with every step she took. Its intensity forced her to grit her teeth and ignore the agony of it because the screaming did not abate but grew more frantic and desperate.

 

“Anna!” Melia cried out when she saw the young girl being dragged out of her secret hiding place by an Easterling warrior. She had crawled into the hollow of one of the large trees and had remained there as she had done so when Lebethron had been attacked and destroyed. Anna had probably thought that the same hiding place would suffice this instance. Perhaps it was the smoke that had forced her to give herself away, Melia could not be certain but it was enough for the Easterling warrior to notice the child and take to pulling her out of her hiding place by the legs.

 

“LET HER GO!” Melia ran straight into him and send him sprawling. He tumbled away like a loose rock tumbling down the side of a hill. Briefly, Melia turned to Anna who was still trembling in fright from her ordeal and hissed sharply, “Anna! Run!”

 

Anna nodded wildly and bolted from the tree, determined to do as she asked. The little girl cast a glimpse over her shoulder to catch sigh of the woman who had saved her life when suddenly, she ran straight into someone else. Anna froze and looked up, seeing the Easterling warrior, his body covered in armour staring down at her through the eye slit in his faceplate. She recoiled almost instantly butt thick, gloved hands clamped around her arms.

 

“Melia!” Anna squealed in terror when she realised that the Easterling grip around her was firm and that she would not be able to escape him.

 

Everything seemed to slow for Melia at that instant. The rising smoke, the clouds of grey rolling around her and above them. Only some things were clear in the vagueness of grey, the stinging smoke was not. The screams of everyone else faded away, the pain in her arm was forgotten and the weapon in her hand, useless when the last of her bolts had been exhausted.

 

What was clear was Anna in the hands of the Easterling. Anna whose eyes were wide with terror, pleading at her to help. The Easterling’s gloved hands shifted position with an intent Melia knew all too well. A hand travelled across the little girl’s chest, holding her to him across the breastbone and the other hand that dug its fingers into her skull, past the hair until the grip was firm and final.

 

“Don’t!” Melia pleaded meeting his eyes and begging with that one word.

 

Melia saw his eyes narrow and knew that he had not heard. The child’s neck snapped cleanly in his grip, bone breaking so hard and fast that Anna probably never knew what had happened and she went slack where she stood. The Easterling released her then, allowing her small body to fall upon the ground, proving once and for all that no one survived the massacre of Lebethron, even days after the fact.

 

Melia may have screamed. She did not know, nor would she have had chance to remember because she was tackled to the ground almost immediately after her soul had died a little watching Anna’s life squandered away so brutally. The Easterling murderer, Melia could not call him a warrior after what she had witnessed, the one who had found Anna in her hiding place, had barrelled into her and knocked the Ranger off her feet. Melia rolled across the ground, snapping the arrow embedded in her shoulder and driving the point deeper into her flesh with such excruciating agony, she could do little but scream.

 

When he raised himself to throw a punch in her face, Melia kicked out her foot and connected with the side of his body, causing him to stagger slightly on his knees and give her time to straighten up herself. She struggled to an upright position and threw a fist in his face as her crossbow was no longer in her grip. He reeled but slightly and threw his out his own fist but did not strike her. Instead, he grabbed a hold of the jagged shaft of the arrow and twisted hard. Melia screamed involuntarily but earned another blow across the cheek for her trouble. This one, which she was completely unprepared for, dropped her back on the ground.

 

She recovered just enough to see another shadow towering over her and realised that Anna’s murderer stood over her. She tried to move but she was not quick enough and his boot met her side, breaking ribs in the process. Melia cried out again, hating her weakness, hating the outcome she could see in his eyes. The screams of the others were surfacing in her consciousness again and as another boot landed in her stomach and the pummelling fists of both warriors reduced whatever resistance she had into a bloody mess of bruised flesh, Melia knew a worst indignity was yet to be visited upon her.

 

She stopped looking at them when the pain became to great because her eyes were fixed upon Anna, who lay not far from where she was about to be defiled, the child’s sightless eyes staring at her. Melia wept and though her attackers may have been forgiven into thinking that her tears were born out of their violation of her body, in truth she was weeping for the child she could not save. A part of Melia’s mind closed itself to the physical horror her body was enduring and wrapped itself around the guilt of failing Lebethron’s last survivor.

 

It was difficult to say which was worse.

* * *

 

Preoccupied by the battle with the Easterlings, the elves of Eden Ardhon remained unaware of what was taking place within the colony itself. Fire was raging through the forests with unabated ferocity, and there came a time when the defenders considered that it may become necessary to abandon the wood altogether and do the unthinkable, flee. However, elves were a hardy lot and they managed to throw a formidable defence despite their numbers. They were aided by skill and artful cunning that cost their enemies a sizeable portion of their number. They used what natural advantage they had to kill as many of the mumakils as possible and force their enemies to the ground.

 

At least five of the great beasts were felled, killed by arrows piercing their most vulnerable places, the mouth, the eyes and the ears. A phalanx of arrows had to be deployed to bring down one of these formidable war oliphants but the elves were determined and a race who had been alive when Balrogs terrified the earth would not shirk facing the less fearsome beasts. The fires disadvantaged them of course, forcing the elves to fight in a confined area but after awhile, the Eldar learnt how to use the flames to their advantage for they had better endurance to smoke and fire then a human. In the end, their stamina was as much a deciding factor in the Easterling retreat as their well-aimed arrows.

 

However, it appeared fortune was with them in some small fashion because grey clouds of rain soon joined the clouds of grey smoke. Although the preceding wind whipped the fires into a frenzy for a brief time, the rain that came down soon after quashed it completely. A storm that could have been sent by Manwe himself, quickly stamped out the fires surrounding Eden Ardhon and spared its forest from any greater destruction. With the cleansing rain, the elves spirits were somewhat raised though they sensed some deep dread they could not yet address because of their present peril.

 

The Easterlings too, realised that they could not afford to linger and in truth, they need not do so. Their intention was to show the elves how vulnerable they were and in the ravaging of South Ithilien’s wood, the partial destruction of Eden Ardhon and the crimes against its women, the Easterlings believed they had accomplished much. With the dawning of a new day and their intention to save their resources for more strategic targets, the Easterlings withdrew, satisfied that they had made their point to the Lord of Eden Ardhon.

* * *

 

 

It was a drop of water on her cheek that reminded Melia that she was alive.

 

Until then, she had been lying where they left her, the pain from a dozen wounds suffusing into one black pit of despair. Her skin was bare in places, she could feel the cool air against her shoulders, around her thighs but she did not wish to open her eyes. Not that she wanted to. Her eyelids were difficult to open. If anyone had been there to describe her appearance to her, Melia might have understood why. She could feel the swell of blood in at least one of them but the dull throbbing of her jaw and her head made it very difficult to care.

 

By the time the water had evolved from droplets to a teeming shower and finally to a fully fledged downpour of rain, Melia could no longer take refuge in the blackness of her unconscious state. The water’s insidious invasion brought coherence to her mind and the fluid stung painfully the wounds across her body. The most brutal pain was the one she did not wish to think about, even though it made itself felt most acutely each time she moved. It felt as if she were torn apart inside and while she knew that her injury was nowhere as grievous as it could be, the world still felt as if it had ended for her.

 

When she opened her eyes as best as she could, Melia saw nothing but pouring rain descending from a grey sky. She felt the water penetrate her clothes, and knew that it would not be enough to wash away the stench she could still feel against her skin. She could still smell them. Through the rain and blood, she could still smell their stink upon her. The memory of them surfaced so quickly and savagely for an instant that Melia felt her stomach clench into a fist. It was the pain that kept her from doubling over and retching. She looked at her shoulder and saw the arrow still embedded in her flesh but the pain of it had dulled. It was her broken arm and ribs that took most of her attention. Melia could taste blood in her mouth but she did not know if that was from her split lips or the gash bleeding down her cheek.

 

She rolled over onto her stomach and immediately groaned at the pain that arose from that action. Closing her eyes, she forced it away though not very well because she was still gasping with every movement. The lower half of her body ached whether or not she moved and once again, Melia was compelled to force away the memory of what caused it. Somehow, she managed to pull herself to her knees and with one hand covered the parts of her that had been exposed by the Easterlings during the ordeal at their hands. Breathing was hard. Her chest felt heavy and when she remembered that it had to do with being held down by the neck during the point of penetration, the memory forced another surge of bile to rise up in her throat.

 

When she saw Anna, all that was forgotten.

 

Melia crawled forward, ignoring the pain that coursed through her body as she made her way to the child’s side. In death, Anna appeared peaceful, the only sign of violence being the terrible ring of purple flesh around her throat. Her eyes still stared into nothingness and Melia wondered if the last thing she had seen was Melia’s inability to help her. What had she felt at that moment knowing that she was going to die? Did she know that it would end that way or was fear all she felt? Melia supposed she would never know and brushed her palm across the girl’s eyes, closing them at last.

 

For a moment, the lady of Eden Ardhon did nothing but kneel before the dead child. Staring at this poor life that fate had decreed would never see past this day. Melia had felt a little part of her die when Anna’s life was taken from her and knew that every day from this one forward, she would never be truly free of that image. Her shoulders shook when the first sobs escaped her and it was not long before she was crying so hard that it felt as if she might break into a thousand pieces. She had not wept in this way since she was forced to tell Legolas to kill her mother after the insidious spell by the Istar Alatar had turned Ninuie into a monster. Yet this felt worse, a thousand times worse.

 

“I am sorry,” Melia whispered through her tears. “I failed you little one. I failed you.”

 

Anna was in no position to refute the statement and Melia had little strength to do nothing but kneel there in the rain, wondering why she should have survived when she had failed to protect this child. Why did she deserve life? It was a question Melia did not have long to ponder because she saw Miriel walking past her in the distance. Until now, Melia had not taken too much stock of her surroundings. Grief had shrunk her perception of things to the child that was lying on the ground before her. She had not noticed anything else.

 

Some of Eden Ardhon was burned away but a good deal remained intact. It was the woods that had suffered the worst of the fire but rain had quenched this angry demon before too much was destroyed irrevocably. Trunks still stood tall and proud and the nurturing touch of elves would ensure the promise of life returning to their aged limbs and branches. It was fortunate that time was capable of healing some things with ease and others, not at all. As she swept her gaze over the ruined parts of Eden Ardhon, she supposed that in time the destruction of this dark day could be forgotten in time. However, the injury done to the people who dwelt within the colony was another thing entirely.

 

Even though she would have been quite content to remain where she was, allowing her misery to soak her up whole, something compelled Melia to her feet. She wiped the blood from her mouth and tried to take a step forward, the pain spearing through her as she made the effort. Drawing a deep breath, Melia needed to steady herself and accustomed her body to the exertion of moving.

 

”Miriel!” She cried out but the elven maid showed no indication that she had heard Melia’s call. As Miriel moved out of sight, Melia saw the blood that stained the white of her dress and the torn sleeves. The lady’s remarkable golden hair was tangled and her fair flesh was smeared with dirt. She walked not with her head held high but like a wraith compelled to walk in a place it had once done in life.

 

“Miriel! Stop!” Melia tried again to no avail.

 

Concern compelled her forward and Melia fought against the pain as she followed Miriel through Eden Ardhon. Through the rain she could hear the weeping of others and knew that she was not alone in her ordeal. They too wore expressions of desolation and while Melia wanted to comfort them, something compelled her to keep after Miriel. None however, struck Melia’s heart with as much anxiety as seeing Miriel drift past everything as if it were not there. Melia soon realised that calling to Miriel would not halt the lady’s progress and the only thing to do was to follow her to her destination.

 

It was difficult to keep walking for Melia knew she was losing blood from her injured shoulder. She was light headed and becoming shorter of breath but she had to continue moving. Anna’s death was a crushing weight upon her soul and she knew that if she allowed Miriel to get past her, she would regret it as much. After some time, it was not difficult to discern where Miriel was headed and the realisation made her hastened her pace even more.

 

The Poros’ rushing waters could be heard as Melia lost sight of Miriel when she cleared the trees before the shore of the embankment. Melia quickened her step, uttering a soft wince of pain because the insides of her body felt as if it had been rubbed raw. Tears ran down her cheeks as she controlled the pain of not only her violation but also the broken arm she was clutching limply to her side and the jagged bones of ribs protruding deeper into her organs. Brushing past the branches that shook as she emerged, Melia’s breath caught when she saw Miriel wading towards the shore.

 

“Miriel no!” Melia exclaimed and broke into a run, her whole body heaving in collective protest as the Ranger forced herself forward.

 

The elven maid waded into the great river, her dress immediately rising up around her body, carried by the water swirling about her. Miriel seemed not to notice and continued this march, not even when Melia waded in after. Her hair began to splay out the farther out she went and Melia knew that if she did not reach her soon, the Ranger would not have the strength to drag her out of the river against the power of the current. It did not even occur to Melia that she could not swim and if they were swept too far out, she would drown far quicker than Miriel could manage.

 

“Stop!” Melia finally grabbed her arm in water that was shoulder deep. “What are you doing?”

 

“Leave me be!” Miriel cried out. “I cannot live with this shame!”

 

“This shame is upon all of us!” Melia declared, refusing to let go and tried hard to pull Miriel back before both of them were imperilled. Unfortunately, this was not easy to do when one was injured and the other was an elf determined to die. “You are not the only one who suffered this disgrace but to end your life is to give them even more power over you! They will kill you without even needing to draw the sword!”

 

“I cannot bear it!” Miriel wailed in anguish, her face streaked with tears. “I smell him on my flesh. His stench is branded into my soul! I cannot live with this stain upon my honour!”

“I will not let you kill yourself!” Melia shouted in fury. “Not you or anyone else! You think I cannot smell what was done to me? You think my senses are any less because I am human! I could retch thinking what has happened but I will not allow them to win this way! Why do you think they use us in this manner! Not for their pleasure but to break our men! This is not because of us! This is to break the spirit of the men who care for us, a testimony to how they will always be less because they failed to protect us!”

 

“I do not care!” Miriel wept. “I want to die. I do not want to live with this shame! It will curse me for all time and I cannot bear it! He took so much pleasure in what he did! I heard his cruel words! I shall not forget it even if I go to the Undying Lands.”

 

“At least he was one!” Melia retaliated, her own emotions unleashed. It was like a dam inside of her, even worse than when she had knelt at the child’s dead body and wept. Then it had been merely tears, this was guilt and black despair, far worse than any physical violation could ever be. “I have been used by both and if that were not enough, one of them killed Anna! Murdered her right in front of my eyes. This child that I was supposed to protect! She looked to me to keep her safe and I promised her I would! I did nothing of the kind! I failed her! I failed her so completely and they took her from me! A child!”

 

Melia’s grip upon Miriel slackened and her whole being seemed to lose its strength for she shook where stood in the water, body wracked with large sobs that shuddered every fibre of her being. She looked away then, feeling her spirit bleed out of her like the blood oozing from her shoulder.

 

“Anna is dead?” Miriel looked at her, eyes filled with sorrow for suddenly, something far worse than her own wretched state penetrated her heart.

 

“Yes,” Melia nodded weeping, barely able to say more than that for her sobs. “I failed her, Miriel! I swore I would guard her, I promised to keep her safe and yet I failed her.” Melia’s voice broke completely with that tormented confession.

 

Miriel saw Melia’s profound grief so much like her own and suddenly felt that despite her despair, she pitied this human who had become her friend since her arrival. The power to feel sympathy and empathy for Melia’s sorrow and her ordeal allowed Miriel to gain some strength of her own. If a human could prevail in light of such terrible guilt added to the burden of the horror they had both endured, then an elf should be able to endure as well.

 

She did not know if this new found resolve would endure past the moment but Miriel supposed that it would be a coward’s way not to even try. Taking Melia’s uninjured arm, the elven maid led the broken Lady of Eden Ardhon back to shore with the hope that perhaps their solidarity in pain might be able to mend them both someday.


	9. The Storm

It was no easy feat to reach Legolas after he set out from Lossarnach, in distance or in thought.

 

Aragorn and Gimli left Lossarnach shortly after the former prince of Mirkwood had read the contents of that ominous message, determined to be at his side no matter how terrible the outcome he faced when he arrived home. The king had paused long enough to tell Faramir to follow and it was almost a day later when the contingent of Rohirrim cavalry finally ended their pursuit to join them. Upon departing from Lossarnach, Legolas and his elves kept up a relentless pace to reach Eden Ardhon. Despite Aragorn and Gimli leaving only a short time after the elves had set out, it took man and dwarf, the better part of the night to finally close the distance between them.

 

Legolas spoke little during their journey to Eden Ardhon and Aragorn who had known the elf for the better part of his life, grew increasingly fearful at how Legolas would be if they arrived at the colony and found the worst had transpired. He knew what Legolas feared even more than the destruction of the colony and could not blame the elf for his selfishness because in his place, Aragorn would feel the same. Legolas feared for Melia and the possibility of her death. Aragorn knew no matter how much Legolas tried, the elf could not reconcile himself with the fact that in a shorter time than he could imagine, he would lose his wife. Despite the joy of their togetherness in the present, Aragorn could see the sliver of sadness in Legolas’ eyes that dreaded the day when he and Melia would be parted.

 

Aragorn dared not imagine his wrath if they returned to Eden Ardhon and found Melia harmed in any way.

 

They could see the storm gaining momentum behind his eyes. It grew with greater intensity each league closer they journeyed towards Eden Ardhon. All that held it in restraint was the desperate hope that they would not arrive there too late, that Eden Ardhon could be saved before the Easterlings fell upon it.  The hope was in vain, they all knew it. In some capacity, Aragorn was certain that Legolas knew too but his heart and soul was too terrified to admit it.  Aragorn prayed for his sake that they were all wrong, that they would arrive at Eden Ardhon and find it, as it always was, the growing elven heart of South Ithilien.

 

Unfortunately, it was not meant to be.

 

Even before they arrived at the community, the evidence of the calamity that had befallen it was evidenced in the charred remains of many great trees.  The forest had survived the scourging by fire, thanks to the timely rainstorm that had occurred during the course of the battle.  However, the damage was considerable and would take years to restore completely to its former glory, more rapidly still if the elves would lend their considerable skills to the task. The Rohirrim who have never travelled this far south but were familiar with the great wood of South Ithilien were similarly horrified by what they saw, while Faramir who considered Legolas a neighbour, grieved at the destruction.

 

Legolas said nothing as they rode through the paths that led to Eden Ardhon although the effect of the destruction upon Nunaur and the others was evident by the grief in their expression. No one attempted to speak as they crossed the distance to Eden Ardhon.  Their breaths had been stilled into abated silence, heavy with anticipation of what they would find when they reached their destination. Aragorn and Gimli flanked Legolas during the final leg of this journey, certain in their hearts that they would be needed to tame the storm that would erupt once they arrived at the colony.

 

The colony still stood but its ordeal was visible in the charred remnants of some buildings and the others that had been despoiled by ash and smoke. There was a grey pall over everything that could have been the lingering mist of the rain but felt as if the starlight had been driven from the realm of the elves.  The gloom that greeted the new arrivals was so thick that it could be sliced through with a knife. Even at the return of their lord, the elves did not appear very animated. Their shoulders still sagged with the burden of what transpired and their gaze bore the look of haunted sorrow.

 

When the travellers finally dismounted their horses, it fell to Elendurfinë, another of Eden Ardhon march wardens to inform his lord of the tragedy that had befallen them. The tall, fair-haired elf was still covered in ash and dirt. If it was possible for an elf to lose his lustre, Elendurfinë certainly proved it for he looked exhausted and shaken. It was a fact that did not escape Legolas any more than it had the rest of the company who were hiding their shock by how worn this beautiful and ideal raced appeared to be. Many of them had been raised from childhood to look upon the elves as a magical race personifying the wonder of Middle earth. To see them in this manner was almost desecration.

 

“What happened?” Legolas asked quietly as he strode towards his home, with Aragorn, Faramir, Gimli and Nunaur in tow, determined to see Melia first.

 

“The Easterlings, my lord,” Elendurfinë replied softly. “They invaded the wood armed with mumakils and fire.”

 

Elendurfinë then proceeded to explain the passage of the Easterling attack, the actions taken by Eden Ardhon’s warriors to defend their homes and the rain that had quelled the blistering fires that had almost consumed the entire forest. Yet it was plain that something remained hidden in the guarded manner of his words, something so terrible he could not bring himself to meet the eyes of his lord and speak its words to all hearing.

 

“How many have died?” Legolas’ asked in the same, low voice.

 

“We are uncertain yet,” Elendurfinë answered truthfully. “Some of the bodies have become lost in the wood where they had fallen. I have sent parties out to seek our missing warriors. We were able to evacuate a good number of women down the river before the Easterlings arrived.  Áyatiruva has gone to retrieve them, I believe they will return before nightfall.”

 

“And my wife?” Legolas forced himself to ask because Melia had not come out to meet him and that alone struck cold fear in his heart.

 

Elendurfinë lowered his eyes; unable to meet Legolas gaze at the mention of Melia’s name.

 

“Tell me,” Legolas demanded, his voice but a hoarse whisper. “Does she live?”

 

“Yes,” Elendurfinë nodded grimly. “She lives, my lord.”

 

Legolas let out a sigh of relief at this news but it was a short lived feeling for he sensed there was more to it than that and braced himself to hear it.

 

“My lord,” Elendurfinë swallowed, preferring to battle Morgoth himself then have to reveal to Legolas what had happened to Melia and the other women of Eden Ardhon. “The Easterlings managed to breach Eden Ardhon itself. We were still battling them in the eastern quadrant of the forests and not all the women were able to get away to safety.”

 

“What does that mean?” Nunaur demanded of his subordinate, his patience having reached its limits. “Explain yourself!”

 

“How many?” Legolas asked through gritted teeth. His eyes were closed because he could no longer bear the strained expression of Elendurfinë was trying to hide from him.  Even without hearing the words, he instinctively knew what Elendurfinë was trying with such great difficulty, to tell him.  A feeling of numbness suffused his being; his emotions became trapped behind a wall of iron restraint because for the moment, he needed control.  The damn would burst soon enough but for now, he needed composure to hear Elendurfinë’s answer.

 

“Twenty,” the elven warrior revealed. “Including your wife.”

 

“Oh Legolas, I am sorry,” Gimli managed to say but no other consolation would follow. There were simply no words to console a husband whose wife had been profaned in such a manner, no comfort that could ease his terrible outrage. Gimli himself considered Melia family and to know that this terrible thing had been done to her was enough to make his stoke his own anger into white-hot fury.

 

“Was she hurt badly?” Legolas forced himself to ask, his voice starting to crack, his face a mask of sorrow.

 

“She remains now in the house of healing. She was pierced with an arrow and her arm was broken. There are other injuries but any more than that I cannot say.”

  
”Thank you,” Legolas answered with surprisingly calm considering what he had just been told.

 

“My lord,” Elendurfinë hated to add more to his lord’s burden but the entire colony knew how Melia had felt about the child and Legolas had a right to know what had happened in this respect as well. “The child Anna was killed. I am told the Lady Melia saw her die.”

 

Legolas swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded slightly. “Nunaur, please see to the comfort of our guests and the Rohirrim. Elendurfinë, you will take me to the Lady Melia.”

 

“Yes my lord,” Nunaur replied promptly but it was evident the leader of Legolas’ warriors was terribly reluctant to leave his lord in such a precarious state of mind.

 

“Legolas, I will come with you,” Aragorn brushed past Nunaur, determined to stay close to the elf. He knew Legolas well enough to know how close to the edge he was skirting at the moment. Legolas was a creature of high moral character for most part but even he had demonstrated savagery in battle that would make any enemy cringe. Still, that savagery was laced with elven control but Aragorn feared that this was one situation where Legolas might abandon his reason and embrace wholly the fury he so deserved to feel.

 

“As you wish,” Legolas retorted, barely hearing his words.

 

Gimli hurried forward, determined not to be left behind even though Legolas registered his presence as much as he noticed Aragorn’s, which was to say not at all.  The dwarf could sense the approach of the storm almost as potently as Aragorn and like the king of Gondor, was uncertain what shape Legolas’ undoubtedly formidable fury would take.   In the years since the formation of the Fellowship and all the trials that had put them to the test after it, Legolas had always been the paragon of elvish serenity. No matter what, he had always managed to keep control. Even when he was angered; there was restraint and thoughtfulness. His expressions of anger were obligatory for the moment, not instinctive as most emotional outbursts tended to be.  They had become accustomed to his composure and his aloof manner, knowing that it was the elven way to be perceived as enigmas. They had never seen him the way he was now.

 

They had never seen him enraged.

* * *

 

 

Legolas paused in the doorway when the sound of the door creaking open made Melia turn to him.

 

She was cushioned against pillows in an upright position on her bed, her gaze formerly upon the window and the day outside. Upon seeing him, there was a sparkle of pleasure in her eyes but its light was difficult to see through the devastation. He froze a moment, feeling another lump in his throat at the sight of her. The swelling around her eyes had diminished a little but the ugly bruises were still there as well as upon her jaw, her cheek and her lips split cruelly in a gash that would tear open if she smiled. From her waist down, she was covered with a sheet but her broken arm, held in place with splints, rested to her side. He could see the swathing over the wound of her shoulder beneath her clothing.

 

“I missed you,” she said softy, her end of lips curling but a little.

 

“I should not have gone,” Legolas answered crossing the space between them and lowering himself next to her on the bed. “I should never have left you,” he whispered, his voice choking.

 

“You did what had to be done,” Melia answered compassionately in this matter. She did not blame him as much as she blamed herself and it pained her to think that he would hold himself responsible for what happened. “You could not have foreseen any of this.”

 

“I should have been here,” Legolas declared, his face contorting with a gamut of emotions he no longer bothered to hide. To see her beauty so marred, to know that the bruises and the broken bones were only the barest fraction of her true injuries was more than he could bear.  Her face showed her despair, it radiated from every corner of her and yet diminish the light that she was to him.

 

“I should have been here to protect you. I should have stopped them from hurting you…” he broke off almost unable to continue.

 

“Please,” she turned away, tears running down her cheeks because the ordeal was making itself felt with fresh pain. “I do not wish to speak of it but I cannot hide that I am soiled and tainted. I have been defiled and I am no longer worthy of you.”

 

“Don’t you say that!” Legolas cried out with such vehemence that it startled Melia as he took the hand of her uninjured arm. Tears had escaped his eyes as he looked at her with such pain that Melia could barely stand it. “It is I who is unworthy. You did nothing to deserve this and I did everything to cause it! You are my love! Nothing will ever change that, not even the foul act of Easterling animals! Do you think their cruelty could ever change the fact that my heart has been yours, will be yours even to the grave?” He was crying now, a thing he had not done in a long time but his guilt was almost complete and she was the one person to whom he could bare his soul without shame.

 

“Oh Prince!” She burst into tears, unable to stand his grief any more than she was able to cope with hers. “I couldn’t save her! She needed me and I couldn’t save her!  What they did to this body was nowhere as terrible as killing her because I could do nothing to stop it!”

 

Legolas drew his wife into his arms as she sobbed pitifully in his embrace, purging herself of the terrible pain she felt at Anna’s death, stroking her hair, whispering in her ears that it was not her fault even though he knew that it was a futile effort. How could he exonerate her of her guilt when he could not convince himself that this was not his fault? Aragorn had warned him! He had thought the king had been too proud to accept his help but it had been Legolas who had been proud, too proud to acknowledge the fact that Aragorn could be right and he was.

 

When she had stopped crying, unaware that every sob had broke his heart anew as if it were of a Promethean design, Legolas took her face in his hands and made her look at him. Forcing himself to remain strong because she needed his strength more than his sorrow at this moment, Legolas stared into her eyes and spoke with all the conviction he could muster.

 

“I love you more than anything in this world but I will not allow you to believe that this was your fault! This was an act of barbarism, upon your flesh and upon that poor child who had suffered greatly already! You could never be anything but absolute in my eyes and there is not a fibre of my being that will believe for an instant that you did not do everything in your power to save her. The tragedy or the blame of this is not yours to bear. It belongs to the Easterlings murderers who took away her life before her time. I swear to you my love, on everything that I am that they will pay for this. Her life will be answered for, hers and that of everyone who was defiled in Eden Ardhon. I love you Mia, I will see them pay for they have done to you!”

 

Melia saw the fury in his eyes and knew that he meant what he had spoken. The rage that burned behind his deep blue eyes struck cold fear in her life for it was like a dragon had been prodded into awakening. She had thought the fate of Lebethron had incited his rage, she had been wrong. That was pale in comparison to the fury blazing in his eyes at the crime upon her and his people. A part of her was gladdened by his desire to avenge the crime but another was afraid for his life.  Vengeance tainted the soul far more profanely then even a violent rape, she would not see him blighted, not even for her.

 

“Prince,” Melia said quickly. “I will survive this but I will do so with you at my side. I need you now to be with me, not to embark upon a course that will drive us apart.”

 

“I am with you,” he declared pulling himself away, his hand still on her cheek. “Someday that will change but until that time I will always be yours but this cannot go unanswered, I could not live with myself if I were to look at you and know that those who forced themselves upon you still breathed the same air as I.  In that respect, elves are no different than men. They will pay!”

 

And with that, he swept out of the room before any of her protestations were capable of changing his mind.

* * *

 

 

Aragorn saw Legolas storming out of the room and knew that there was murder in his eyes. The elf barely registered the presence of his close friends as he strode past them, with a fury so dark that it almost created shadows along the hallway as he moved.  Aragorn and Gimli exchanged fearful looks, aware that the storm that they had feared had finally broken.  Without needing to correspond in words what needed to be done, Aragorn immediately fell into pursuit certain that in his rage Legolas was about to embark upon some foolish act of vengeance. Gimli held back, thinking that it was best that Aragorn dealt with this alone for it needed subtlety and that was something the dwarf lacked.

 

“Legolas!” Aragorn called out as he hurried out the house of healing into the outdoors of Eden Ardhon once more. “Stop!”

 

Legolas did not answer and made his way to where the horses were stabled, confirming Aragorn’s worse fears that the elf did intend to do something foolish.  Legolas was certainly justified in doing so despite how hazardous the action might be.  If Aragorn were in his place, he doubted if anyone could deter him from his course any more than he was attempting to do to Legolas at this moment. However, he had to try. He had to try because Legolas was his friend and if their positions were indeed reversed, it would be Legolas who would be making this impassioned plea instead of him.

 

“Leave me be Aragorn,” Legolas paused briefly when they reached the entrance to the stables. It was one of the few buildings that fortunately remained untouched by the fire.

 

“I will know where you intend to go first,” Aragorn returned insistently.

 

“It is none of your affair,” Legolas glared at him.

 

“It is if you intend upon embarking on utter suicide,” the king declared, wrapping his fist around Legolas’ arm and preventing him from going any further into the stable.

 

“Release me immediately,” Legolas ordered, his eyes meeting Aragorn’s in cold fury.

 

“No,” Aragorn shook his head. “Not whilst you are in this state. I know what burns you and though I cannot fault you for it, I will not allow you to do what is in your mind. It is folly and it will cost you your life!”

 

“I will not allow this violation go unpunished,” Legolas snapped, tearing his arm out of Aragorn’s grasp.

 

“It will not,” Aragorn tried to reason with him but was beginning to see that reason may not be possible, not with the fury that was coursing through Legolas at this time. “However, you would best serve your people by being there for them.”

 

“If I had the best consideration of my people in my head, I would not have interfered in this war of yours to begin with and my wife’s body and soul would not be ripped asunder!” The elf shouted before turning on his heels and resuming the journey into the stable.

 

“Legolas, I will not allow you to leave here.” Aragorn said firmly with enough steel in his voice to halt the lord of Eden Ardhon in his steps.

 

“Who do you think you are that you presume to tell me what I can and cannot do in my own realm, Aragorn?” Legolas demanded after he had turned around and faced Aragorn once again.

 

“I am your friend,” the king of Gondor said sincerely, “and I will not let you do this thing.”

 

“How do you propose to stop me?” Legolas glared at him, eyes filled with challenge and outrage at the man’s presumption. 

 

“By any means necessary,” Aragorn declared firmly, not about to stand aside.

 

“I would like to see you try,” Legolas hissed under his breath and turned his back upon Aragorn. There was a rage burning inside of him that would know no rest until he had tasted vengeance. Never in his life had Legolas been provoked to such a state of burning fury and now that the flame had been stoked into such heat, it was difficult to think of anything else but satisfying the demand for justice. He did not care if others called it by a different name, that to them it was vengeance. He did not care for anything except righting the wrong that had been inflicted his wife and his people.

 

Aragorn took a deep breath and decided that he would have no choice but to make good on his threat. He broke into a run in order to catch up with Legolas, determined that the elf would not leave Eden Ardhon in his present condition. Legolas was just angry enough to try to mount a lone assault upon the Easterling army and he had skill enough to track them to do so.  Unfortunately, elven senses were more than prepared for him. Before Aragorn could reach for Legolas’ shoulder, the elf spun around and grabbed his wrist.

 

“Do not interfere with me, Aragorn,” Legolas warned, too swept away by anger to recognise that his friend was trying to help.

 

“I will not let you go,” Aragorn repeated himself.

 

Legolas shoved his hand away and started to turn but Aragorn was just as determined as Legolas in this matter. The former Ranger reached for him again and this time Legolas’ reaction was more violent. He grasped Aragorn’s tunic and slammed him hard against the wall, pinning him there with elven strength, heightened by guilt and anger.

 

“Leave me be!” Legolas demanded.

 

Aragorn broke free easily and pushed Legolas away from him. “I will not! I cannot! This is folly and you know it! Your people need you here at this moment and that is far more important thing than your need for vengeance!”

 

Legolas lashed out so swiftly that Aragorn did not even see the fist that connected with his jaw and sent him sprawling against the wall. The strike was hard and sharp but not enough to harm his seriously. In his time Aragorn had weathered worse and if it required that he bore the brunt of his trusted companion’s rage to keep him from doing something foolish, then so be it.

 

“You will not change what has happened,” Aragorn replied, rubbing his chin as he faced Legolas after a moment. “And your death will not comfort your wife who has suffered enough. Do not force her to endure your loss as well as her violation!”

 

“How dare you?” Legolas demanded as he took a step closer towards Aragorn, until they were inches part from each other and Aragorn could see how enraged the prince truly was.  “How dare you presume to tell me anything? If it were the Evenstar, not even Iluvutar could stop you from what I am intending to do now! Your hypocrisy sickens me!”

 

“Legolas, I know how you feel…” Aragorn started to say.

 

“NO YOU DO NOT!” Legolas shouted in turn, his voice starting to break. “How could you possibly know what I feel at this moment? It was not your wife that was brutalised! Not your people who have been subjected to this humiliation and degradation. It was not you who gambled their safety and lost! It was I Aragorn! I!”

 

“It was not your fault,” Aragorn replied earnestly, feeling his heartache as he watched Legolas recoiled with that terrible outburst, losing all control of his emotions in a devastating admission of guilt. “You could not have prevented this.”

 

“I did everything to provoke it!” Legolas cried with anguish. “You warned me and I did not listen. I did not believe that they would dare to do this! Not even after the destruction of Lebethron. I bore the conceit of all elves, that we are untouchable, that we are the blessed and the protected of the Valar that we cannot be harmed in such a fashion! You warned me that this would happen and I did not see it! I did not see it and now she lies there, like so many others, violated and shamed, because of me!”

 

Legolas dropped to his knees, his strength giving out at last under the weight of the terrible burden in his heart, unable to maintain composure or control as he started to weep. “I failed her Aragorn, I failed her and now she is broken inside and seeing her in this manner, knowing I am the cause is a knife if my heart I cannot bear! I should have listened to you but I did not and she has paid for my arrogance! She and the rest of my people!”

 

“You did not fail anyone,” Aragorn replied, feeling his own emotion well up inside of him seeing his friend so completely desolate. It was quite something to witness the deconstruction of one of the strongest people he would ever know and it was not a sight he wanted to see again. “You did what you thought was best. You wished only to help and there is no shame in that. Your people understand it as will your wife. She is a Ranger of the North with enough steel in her character to ensure that even this terrible deed will not break her. Do not let it break you.”

 

Legolas fell back on his legs, continuing to weep in despair, releasing the torrent of emotion and grief that had been dammed up since their departure from Lossarnach. Aragorn made no effort to approach him and remained in silence, allowing the elf to purge himself of his grief.  Legolas was one who kept his emotions to himself for most part and to release it in this manner was no easy thing, particularly in full view of someone else. There were moments when the best comfort one man could offer another was to simply remain silent.

 

“You told me that this could happen and I refused to believe it, I refused to believe at the risk of everything I hold dear. I thought you were too proud to accept my help now that you were king of Gondor but it was I who was filled with pride Aragorn. I was too proud to believe that this outcome was possible, that the Easterlings would dare to attack an elven colony.  I have made such grave mistakes because of that pride and now there is wound upon my Melia’s heart that no amount of time can erase and she has no Undying Lands to go to in order to be rid of it.”

 

“She is not an elf,” Aragorn finally answered, “she is human and she will endure because you will be at her side.”

 

“I cannot be for the moment,” Legolas looked up at Aragorn, his cheeks still wet from tears and his eyes glistening, but he was no longer weeping and the grief that Aragorn had been privy to a short time ago was finally diminishing, replaced by his regaining composure.  “I need to go.”

 

“Where?” Aragorn asked suspiciously, wondering if Legolas still had vengeance in his mind.

 

“I have a journey to make and it is not to kill the Easterlings, though they will know my wrath. I will ask that in my absence you convey to Nunaur that all our women and our injured be sent to Minas Tirith until I give word that it is safe for our return. I trust that you will not mind housing my people for a time?”

 

“You know better than to ask that but what do you intend to do?” Aragorn inquired again.

 

Legolas ignored the question and continued speaking, “once that is done and my people are safely housed in the White City, you will tell him to proceed to Emyn Arnen with our warriors to join your armies. Leave no one behind in Eden Ardhon, until this war is done I cannot guarantee their safety. We will compensate Gondor for any resources that are expended during our stay.”

 

“That is not necessary…” Aragorn started to stay, realising that the fury that had almost driven Legolas to folly was now abated, though the storm in his eyes was far from finished.

 

“Do not be so quick to say that,” Legolas retorted. “You told us that you believe this conflict would last far longer than a matter of months. If that is so, you cannot afford to be magnanimous.”

 

“And you?” Aragorn stared at him. “What do you intend to do?”

 

Legolas rose to his feet and took a deep breath, wiping the tears from his eyes and slipping that aloof mask over his face once again. “I have a journey to make and it is one I must travel alone.”

 

He saw Aragorn opening his mouth to protest the idea and quickly silenced him by adding a further explanation. “Do not concern yourself that I am riding to take on the Easterling army single-handedly. While I think that I would take many of them before my death, you are probably correct in believing that I would not survive the engagement but I mean to hurt them Aragorn, I mean to make them pay.”

 

“How?” The king of Gondor asked, shuddering inwardly at the ice in Legolas’ closing statement.

 

“By going to see my father.”

* * *

 

“Hello lass,” Gimli greeted Melia when he entered her room.

 

“Gimli,” the Lady of Eden Ardhon said with a surge of warmth in her otherwise despairing eyes. “Where is Legolas?”

 

The dwarf did not answer her at first, pulling himself a chair next to her bed. Gimli could feel empathize with Legolas’ fury and his subsequent actions when he cast his gaze upon the lady. He too felt a surge of anger at seeing her wound and the sadness in her eyes. If he could feel this way, Gimli could not even begin to imagine the hurt that Legolas must be enduring at this moment. It made it easier to understand why Legolas had set out on his lone quest, why he was determine to extract his pound of flesh from every Easterling in Middle earth.

 

“He’s gone lass,” Gimli admitted after he had seated himself beside her.

 

“Gone?” Melia’s eyes widened with alarm. “Where?”

 

“To Mirkwood.”

 

“To Mirkwood?” Melia sat up straighter. “Why?”

 

“To show the Easterlings that if what they intended here was to frighten the elves out of participating in the war, then they were very much mistaken,” Gimli replied.

 

“Thranduil will not commit his people to war,” Melia answered, knowing her father in law well enough now to be certain of this.

 

Thranduil was a king very much concerned with his own realm. Unlike Elrond and Galadriel who had never deign to call themselves monarchs, Thranduil had relished the title as the Woodland king and he took his oath to protect his people seriously. Melia could not blame him for this because more than any other elven kingdom in Middle earth, Thranduil’s elves had been forced to endure Sauron’s presence on a daily basis.

 

With Dol Guldur reeking out its evil in the woods of Mirkwood, turning the forests of Eryn Lasgalen into a treacherous haven for all manner of vile creatures, the elves had been forced to co-exist with this darkness for countless years. The burden of this had taken its toll upon Thranduil who had become somewhat insular. In a reign where every day might produce a new threat from the nearby enemy, Thranduil had been forced to think only of his own people and leave the concerns of Middle earth to those who had the time to expend in its care.

 

During the treaty ceremony that would have seen a new peace forged between the Easterling Confederacy and the Council of Middle earth, Thranduil had been invited to take part but the king had refused, citing that it was not his concern. Melia knew that Legolas had been disappointed by this disinterest but he was unsurprised by his father’s lack of concern. He knew his father better than anyone and while Thranduil had consented enough to send him to Imladris during the quest of the ring, any more than was beyond Thranduil’s capacity.

 

“I think you will make a compelling reason,” Gimli answered looking upon her with sympathy.

 

“I do not wish him to beg his father for my sake,” Melia declared aggrieved by this.

 

“I do not think it is merely your sake,” the dwarf replied but could not sound truly convincing. “I think this attack upon Eden Ardhon has awakened all the elves to some painful realisations, particularly for those who have chosen to remain in Middle earth for a time.  I think they were of the belief that the affairs of men did not concern them and that as long as that they could remain untouched by violence and still go about as they pleased. This has been a swift kick in their complacency I’m afraid.” Gimli did not mention that the worst victim of this belief was Legolas himself. The lord of Eden Ardhon blamed himself completely for what had transpired. Try as Gimli might to think of some answer that would exonerate this guilt, the dwarf could not.

 

This had come about because of Legolas’ involvement in the siege of Lossarnach.

 

“The Prince blames himself,” Melia whispered softly. “He thinks that it is his fault that Eden Ardhon has suffered.”

 

“I am afraid so,” Gimli could not bring himself to lie. “I do not think anyone else blames him. They understood that he had to help, that it was not in the nature of elves to sit by and allow innocents to be murdered. The price is high no doubt, higher than anyone perceived it to be but I do not think the people of Eden Ardhon hold the elf responsible for what has happened.”

 

“They love him too much,” Melia said with a faint smile, an exertion that made her wince because of her split lip. “He is Legolas Greenleaf, one of the nine walkers and a legend himself. He could nothing that would lower their esteem of him. Unfortunately, my Prince will be capable of blaming himself quite sufficiently nevertheless.”

 

“You should not be worrying about this,” Gimli said squeezing her uninjured hand tighter. “You should be resting. You should save your strength for yourself and let that fool elf you married do what he needs to. This is a road he must travel alone, lass. You cannot do it for him and you need to rest. You have been through an ordeal, one I might add was not your fault, because he will need you to be strong in the days to come.”

 

“You are true friend Master Dwarf,” Melia looked upon him with great affection. Though her heart was heavy and the pain of Anna’s death still lingered in her heart, his words did offer her some comfort. “Does your wife know how fortunate she is?”

  
”Probably not,” he said full of devilish charm. “So if you enlighten her the next time you see her, I should be most grateful.”

 

Melia uttered a small laugh before her expression melted into longing once more, “I wish he was here. I miss him.”

 

“He will not be gone long,” Gimli assured her. “What he had to do could not wait.”

 

“I know,” Melia sighed. “I have a premonition that for much my existence during and after this life, will be spent waiting for his arrival.”

* * *

 

He rode as if he were being chased by all the demons of the world.

 

With his eye set firmly upon the road ahead, Legolas and his mount Arod, took the Harad Road and travelled northwards at best speed. Elf and horse maintained a swift pace with the mountains of Ephel Duath following his eastern flank.  Arod carried him with far greater speed now that the beast was required to bear only one rider. For much of its service to Legolas, it had been required to carry elf and dwarf to many adventures. However, when saddled with only one passenger, the horse’s speed was very impressive indeed. The duo followed the Harad Road until they arrived at the island fortress of Cair Andros where Galain the Steward of this ancient stronghold was good enough to provide them with a means to travel the next leg of their journey.

 

For a many days, Legolas sailed the sizeable vessel up the length of the Anduin, avoiding all together the harsh terrain of Emyn Muil and the ruined terrain of the Brown Lands. Speed was of the essence because the reason for his journey to important. With the armies of the Confederacy on the move across lands of the Reunified Kingdomand its allies with little or no hindrance, it was only a matter of time before they struck at a target that would not be able to repel them the way Lossarnach had done. Eden Ardhon could not claim that victory because the Easterlings had only remained long enough to inflict their lesson. They had no interest in acquiring elven territory.

 

Legolas spent his time on the river thinking hard about what he would say to his father when their eyes beheld one another again. It was no small thing he was asking of his father but the crime against Eden Ardhon had proved one thing most conclusively. No elf remaining in Middle earth could choose to ignore the threat represented by the Easterlings should the war with the Reunified Kingdom fall in their favour.  Imlardis was protected by the Ford of Bruinen and too far from the Confederacy to be of threat but the same could not be said of either Eryn Lasgalen or Lorien. It was only the forests that protected these realms from invading armies and the sacking of Eden Ardhon had proved that the enemy was not above burning it down around their ears to secure a victory.

 

They travelled up the Anduin until they reached Gladden Fields before Legolas resumed the journey on horseback. Within a matter of days, he was riding up the familiar paths of the Woodland Realm, a place he had last beheld when he had left to establish his colony in South Ithilien. There so many memories pressing against him as he travelled through the land of his youth and so much of it remained the same while much had changed. Until Legolas felt the life of the forests soaking into his skin once more, he had not realised how much he had missed his home.

 

His arrival was met with great joy and if the circumstances were anything but what they were, Legolas would have shared their happiness but he could not. When he thought of Melia, Miriel and all those other maidens who had been defiled to make some barbaric point about their interference in matters supposedly not their own, Legolas felt his blood surge with the fury anew.  The kind of animals that would commit such a foul act upon women could not be allowed to gain ascendancy over Middle earth. It would akin to allowing Sauron or Morgoth dominion over the world again. It could not be permitted.

 

When Legolas was found himself before Thranduil in the court of the Woodland Realm, he was somewhat surprised by how much older Thranduil appeared.  Elves did not age in the same manner and they certainly did it at a far slower pace but it appeared to Legolas that his father had changed a little since his presence at Eden Ardhon some months ago when he and Melia were wed.  Was Thranduil perhaps ready to leave Middle earth at last?

 

“This is an unexpected surprise,” Thranduil said with warmth as he embraced his first and only son with great affection. “Is Melia with you?”

 

“No father,” Legolas shook his head as he stepped back wondering if he should wait for a day to tell his father his reason for making this journey. It was odd because he had thought up all the words to say during the journey here but now that the moment was upon him, he felt like he was once again a boy trying to explain himself to his father.  However, his memory shifted back to Melia, the desolation on her face, the tears she had wept as she told him of her ordeal at the hands of the Easterling and fury he felt returned with sharp intensity and gave him the courage he needed.

 

“Eden Ardhon has been attacked father,” Legolas announced.

 

“Attacked?” The Woodland king exclaimed with genuine shock. “By whom?”

 

“Easterlings,” Legolas answered as he saw Thranduil returning to his throne. “You know that during the treaty negotiations they had allied themselves with the Haradrim so that they could speak to the Council of Middle earth with one voice.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Thranduil said impatiently, more concerned about Eden Ardhon then the politics of the Easterlings and Southrons.

 

“It appears that they are gathering more allies than we first believed. They have enlisted the aid of the Dunlendings, the goblins of Moria and all the former agents that served Sauron. They call themselves the Easterling Confederacy and their strength and numbers may be the largest army of their kind we have seen since the War of Ring.”

 

“I told you that a treaty with them was a waste of time,” Thranduil replied, appreciating the scope of the threat, even if the conflict was a matter for men.

 

Legolas ignored his father and continued with his commentary of events so that Thranduil could understand how Eden Ardhon had fallen prey to the Easterling hordes. “They destroyed the village of Lebethron as a warning to elves that the same would befall Eden Ardhon if we attempted to become involved.”

 

“I take it you did not oblige them this request,” Thranduil stared at him.

 

“I tried,” Legolas said softly, his eyes lowering to the floor. “Aragorn had told me that it was unwise to provoke them, lest they were to retaliate against Eden Ardhon.”

 

“That was good advice,” Thranduil responded, offering his son no solace because he was now listening to Legolas as the king of the Woodland Realm, not his father.  “The king of Gondor is wise. He seeks to save you from yourself.”

 

“I had every intention of doing what he asked but he is my friend and when the Haradrim were discovered marching towards Lossarnach, I rode with him with Nunaur and a few others to aid in its defense. It was not my intention to embroil Eden Ardhon in the conflict.”

 

“The Easterlings are hardly reasonable,” Thranduil said sympathetically. “They would not make the distinction. You are the lord of your realm and when you stand beside the king of Gondor, you do not stand as his friend, you stand there as a representative of your people. Your friendship with the Elfstone committed Eden Ardhon to war.”

 

“Do you think I do not know that?” Legolas hissed. “I have paid the price for that father. They fell upon Eden Ardhon while I was still in Lossarnach. They set the forest ablaze and killed a good many of my people and very nearly destroyed the colony completely. Eden Ardhon stands but our heart has been torn open.”

 

“I am sorry,” Thranduil rose from the throne and returned to his son. “The court of the Woodland Realm will provide any aid Eden Ardhon requires to recover from this terrible ordeal. You have my promise on that, my son.”

 

“It is not your aid I wish father,” Legolas met Thranduil’s eyes. “It is your support in arms.”

 

Thranduil blinked as if he had been mistaken in his hearing. “What did you say?”

 

“You heard me,” Legolas replied, seeing no reason to repeat himself when it was clear Thranduil had understood his words. “I am committing Eden Ardhon to war. This insult against my people will be answered for. I am asking you to do the same. If you were to join the forces of the Reunified Kingdom then I am certain that Celeborn of Lorien will do the same.”

 

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Thranduil stared at Legolas in astonishment, unable to believe that his very sensible son had made such a preposterous request.  “You wish for the elves to go war?”

 

“War will come if we do nothing!” Legolas returned sharply. “They butchered an entire village as a message to me that they will harm anyone who stands in their way and when I refused, they attacked my realm and defiled it! If they win this war and gain dominion over the lands of the Reunified Kingdom, how long do you think it will be before they turn their attention to their most ancient of enemies, the elves?”

 

“We have been able to defend ourselves from Sauron and far worst things than a collection of human rabble, I do not think we will be in terrible danger,” Thranduil insisted.

 

“Then you are a fool father,” Legolas answered. “Their leader has forged together an alliance the likes of which has not been seen since Sauron! If it were not for the One Ring and Sauron’s destruction, they could have won the war! Now they are no longer hindered by either and spurred on by a leader they will die to protect. If we do not take a stand in this, we will find ourselves surrounded on all sides!”

 

“You are assuming the Reunified Kingdom will not win,” Thranduil retaliated but Legolas could see that the obdurate refusal had been weakened slightly. Thranduil was in no hurry to return to the Undying Lands. He liked being the Woodland king and hoped to remain so for quite some time; however, the world around Eryn Lasgalen  _would_ change irrevocably if he did not take a stand.

 

“I have faith in my friends and in their courage but we dare not risk the chance that they may lose. If we were to join them in this, we will give them the strength to not only protect our borders but to push the enemy back to their territories and ensure that they will never rise again.” Legolas answered sincerely.

 

Thranduil stared at his son for a moment because in the last few minutes he had noticed something in Legolas’ manner that he had not seen for a very long time. As a child, his son was everything a father could ask for. Fiercely loyal and brave beyond words and sometimes, Thranduil thought secretly, beyond sense. Legolas had always been the paragon of elven behaviour; he was everything that a son who was greatly loved by a father should be. However, Thranduil was aware that the boy had something of a temper. It did not rise often but when it did, even Thranduil knew to beware.  As he looked upon his son, standing before him with a storm raging behind his eyes, the Woodland king wondered what had inspired his fury.

 

“Legolas, what has happened?” Thranduil asked quietly.

 

Legolas looked at his father, wishing he could lie but the truth wanted to come, no matter how ashamed he was of himself at his responsibility at what had transpired at Eden Ardhon because of him.  Three thousand years old he may be, but there was still a tiny part of the Mirkwood’s prince that was a little boy needing his father’s comfort.

 

“They defiled Melia.”

 

It escaped him in a small voice with tears welling in his eyes that shocked his father to no end because it had been years since Thranduil had seen his child so vulnerable and whether or not the boy was three years old or three thousand years old mattered little to his father. It still pierced the heart of the old man who immediately wrapped his arms around his son in an embrace of comfort. Finally, Thranduil understood Legolas’ insistence for the elves to join the conflict as well as the terrible, terrible guilt that he could see in his eyes.

 

“I am so sorry my son,” Thranduil said gently. “How badly have they harmed her?”

 

“Her spirit is in pieces,” Legolas answered, barely able to maintain his composure and not weep like a child. “She fought bravely to protect others and herself but there were too many of them and she was overcome. She grieves not for the violence of it but for her failure to save the others.”

 

“She is an exceptional woman,” Thranduil replied sincerely, “a credit to her race.”

 

“She was not alone father,” Legolas continued his speech, this time spoken from the heart rather than the heated tirade full of bluster. “The Easterlings raped many of our women as a lesson to the elves of what they would do if we stand against them. We cannot allow ourselves to be intimidated this way. They think that we are complacent and weak because we do not involve ourselves in the affairs of men and that they can inflict a lesson like this upon us without fear of reprisals. Father, if we do nothing then we deserve nothing but scorn for they have turned us into a race of cowards.”

 

Thranduil flinched at the slight but he could not deny that his son’s words did not ring with truth.  Rape was the most heinous crime that could be inflicted upon any elf, male or female. Some were willing to die rather than live with the shame and these Easterlings had blithely committed this atrocity under the guise of some deserved lesson that his son was required to learn. It infuriated him to think a member of his family, even if she was human, had been subjected to this humiliation. Many of the elves at Eden Ardhon had been of Eryn Lasgalen and though they were removed from his realm, Thranduil still felt some responsibility to them.

 

“You ask a great deal my son,” Thranduil met Legolas’ gaze.

 

The prince’s breath held because he could see that he had touched his father’s heart with his words and might have actually succeeded in convincing Thranduil to join him in this war. Choosing his next words carefully, Legolas spoke once more.

 

“Father, I have never asked you anything in my life as important as this and I know that for you to agree would set our people on a perilous road but it is a road we  _must_  take. I do not deny that Melia’s treatment by the Easterlings influences my demand but my fury is also for my people and the fear that if we allow them this concession, they will commit the same atrocity again if we do not bend to their will.”

 

Thranduil let out a heavy sigh, absorbing all of Legolas’ words and being unable to deny that he disliked the notion of the Easterling Confederacy believing that the elves were a diminished race that would suffer any humiliation to avoid combat.  He wondered if they had any idea the storm they had provoked because of Eden Ardhon. Thranduil rather doubted it.

 

Humans were never really far sighted.

 

“I suppose that you had better get some rest,” Thandruil looked at his son. “It will be a long ride to East Lorien and we should make haste. Elbereth knows I will need all the strength I can get, trying to convince Celeborn to join us but no fear we will. If the Easterlings want a war, we will give them one that will send them scurrying back to their lands like the dogs they are. Complacent are we? We will show them that they know nothing about us at all and will pay in blood for that mistake.”

 

Legolas smiled gratefully and felt utterly satisfied with his audience with the king of the Woodland Realm.

 

The Easterlings wanted to teach the elves a lesson.

 

Now it was time for them to learn a lesson of their own and what it means to wake a sleeping dragon.

 


	10. The Battle of the Eastern Eye

The campaign of terror that had been kindled in Lebethron to sweep across Middle earth from Lossarnach to Eden Ardhon finally arrived in Emyn Arnen.

 

When Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien, was delivered the news that an army of Wainriders and Rhovanians were approaching Emyn Arnen from a northerly direction, she almost laughed at the masterful strategy of the Confederacy’s leader. The attack upon Lossarnach had rightly drawn away the bulk of Gondor’s forces to defend the vale and to reinforce the fortifications at Gondor. Until that threat was made known to them, it had been assumed by all that when war came to the lands of the Reunified Kingdom and its allies, it would do so from the east, striking at Ithilien first for it was the outermost fiefdom.

 

However, with the threat appearing to be directed at Lossarnach, the armies had left Ithilien, led by Imrahil to answer the king’s call to arms to defend the city at all costs. Only a third of the army still remained in Emyn Arnen for it did not seem possible that the enemy could be at two places at once. Unfortunately, it was that assumption that left Ithilien in the situation it now faced. Reports, erratic as they were, spoke of widespread strife across Middle earth. Her own homeland of Rohan had fallen under attack, the Marshall of the Mark slaughtered by the goblins of Moria while rogue Dunlending tribes closed in on Edoras.  There was even an unconfirmed rumour that the Easterlings had attacked Eden Ardhon, the elven colony in South Ithilien.

 

Now, they were faced with the news from the Rangers that the Wainriders were marching upon Emyn Arnen with an army of warriors from Rhovanian. Word had been sent to Gondor and Lossarnach of the threat approaching Ithilien but it was difficult to discern where their forces were at this time for the enemy had been leading them on a merry chase indeed. Still, Eowyn was confident that Emyn Arnen’s defences would hold because a healthy contingent of soldiers still remained in Ithilien and in particular around Emyn Arnen itself.

 

As soon as the news reached them of the impending attack, Eowyn had sent out word to all settlements to abandon their homes for safe havens until the enemy was dwelt with. Some took to the foothills of Ephel Duath while others retreated to the stronghold at Henneth Annum.  Most however, flocked to Emyn Arnen, believing the only safest protection would come from the armies stationed there already.  Their fear was no stranger to Eowyn, who in her time suffered similar experiences during the War of the Ring.

 

The former White Lady of Rohan moved swiftly to counter the anxiety of her people by instilling in them the hope that they were lost and that the armies of Ithilien were more than capable of defending them against the scourge marching from the north.  In truth, she believed it herself. The armies of Ithilien were in much better stead to match the Wainriders then the Rohirrim were against the overwhelming numbers of Saruman’s army of the White Hand during the War of the Ring.

 

Once the countryside of Ithilien was removed of its people, the armies retreated to Emyn Arnen preparing to defend the stronghold from the invaders by taking advantage of the mountainous terrain that was the ruling centre of Ithilien.  Reinforcements would take little more than a week to arrive from Gondor and Lossarnach but while the fortress of Emyn Arnen was nowhere as formidable as the Hornburg, it was well secured and could withstand a siege until the Prince of Ithilien returned. After all, the last war had ensured that the numbers of the Wainriders were sufficiently depleted and the men of Rhovanian were unseasoned warriors in this particular arena of battle.

 

Eowyn had no intention of fighting though the decision had been a difficult one to make. For the first time in her life, she was forced to concede that it was necessary for her to step aside and let others fight for her. It was a hard decision to make for one was self-sufficient as she. All her life, Eowyn had been forced to endure the belief that women should be protected and even though women of Rohan were not above picking up a sword, it was something that they were not called upon to do. Her prowess with the sword was something that she had learnt in secret, her only confidant the brother she loved dearly. Even at the Battle of Pelennor, she was forced to ride with the Rohirrim in disguise where she distinguished herself in battle despite the loss of Theoden. 

 

Now, she had to make a conscious decision to yield because it was not merely her life that was held in the balance but also the life of the babe slumbering inside of her.

 

In the weeks since her husband’s departure, little had changed in her body that allowed anyone else to guess that she was with child. Eowyn knew she should have told Faramir the truth prior to his departure but she feared that doing so would make it harder for him to leave. However, it now appeared that the war was not going to be ended swiftly and he needed to know that there was something greater than both of them from which to draw hope. As the days progressed, Eowyn began to look forward to telling him and remembered how pleased he had been when she suggested naming their first child after his beloved brother, Boromir. 

 

She worried a little about the attack coming, aware that in every engagement there was risk, but the contingent advancing upon them were reportedly equal to the forces that would be defending Emyn Arnen.  Like the rest of Ithilien’s war masters, Eowyn surmised that this attack was just another effort by the Easterling Confederacy to show the Reunified Kingdom its ability to assail their enemies on all fronts. While the advancing army was not to be taken lightly under any circumstances, the warriors of Ithilien were confident that they were capable of holding their own until the rest of their armies returned to take part in its defence.

 

The fortress and watchtower, known as the Eastern Eye and home to the Prince of Ithilien was constructed upon the hills of Emyn Arnen and sat almost at the peak of this slight range. In the days before Hurin had been made the Ruling Steward, Emyn Arnen was the traditional home of the Steward of Gondor. Built in the years following the Battle of the Camp, the purpose of the Eastern Eye was to maintain a vigil over the lands of Rhun, to ensure that the Wainriders were not able to rise up again and trouble the kingdom of Gondor. Unfortunately, following the vanquishment of the Wainriders, the fortress found it had a new enemy to concern itself with.

 

In the year 2002 of the Third Age, the Witch King who had led the destruction at Angmar struck at Minas Ithil and took the Gondorian city for his master Sauron, bestowing upon it the name of Minas Morgul.  The conflict which was to end with the death of King Eärnur often found its direction utilising the intelligence gathered by the watchers of the Eastern Eye and during the course of the fighting, its walls had been the last safe refuge for the people who dwelt in Ithilien.

 

After the death of Eärnur and the ascendancy of Hurin, the Eastern Eye was abandoned because Gondor was too weakened to maintain a permanent fighting force within its walls. With the darkness of Mordor spreading outwards, many of the folk who resided in North Ithilien chose to depart to safer lands and the Eastern Eye was eventually forgotten. It was only in recent years that the Rangers of Ithilien had adopted it as one of their many havens during their war with Sauron. With the return of king, Emyn Arnen had once again been returned to the Steward and Faramir had embarked upon a course to restore the Eastern Eye to its former occupation.

 

Perched almost upon the peak of Emyn Arnen, the Eastern Eye was fortified with high stonewalls that were serrated along its edges, like a row of uneven teeth. Stone spikes protruded outwards from the wall with the same irregularity, making it difficult for the enemy to secure their ladders against the wall without the use of ropes. The palace itself was a series of terraced levels, the lowest was an encircling canyon of solid rock, where the enemy who breached the walls would be required to penetrate massive doors leading into the rest of the structure.

 

The highest point in the Eastern Eye was a stone spire that rose above the fortress, providing an unimpeded view of the surrounding terrain for many leagues. A great horn occupied the space within the guard tower. When sounded, there was not a corner of Emyn Arnen that would not hear its alert.  The top of the spire bore the ring of a walkway wide enough for several men. This had been an added construction, built when the Eastern Eye found itself contending with Mordor, in particular the Witch King and his flying Winged Beasts.

 

While Faramir had turned the palatial residence of the Eastern Eye into a place of beauty for his bride, there were some parts of it that retained its martial appearance. The Lord of Ithilien had lived far too long with the threat of enemies at his borders to be capable of allowing peace to make him complacent.  In between the canyon of stone and the tall spire, was a residence as royal as any might be, befitting the lord and lady of the realm, yet both were too accustomed to war to do away with the fortifications.

 

Eowyn had been more than ready to lead her people to the large halls beneath the Eastern Eye where refugees in the past had flocked together in safety during great battles, when she heard the great horn booming in her ears with its baleful din. It sounded like the songs of the tree shepherds whose voices could be heard from the forests of Fangorn. She felt a pang of longing as she ushered the last of  her people into the underground sanctuary, wishing very much to join the battle before common sense prevailed. It was her responsibility to protect her baby and if doing so meant allowing others to protect her instead, then Eowyn would do so even if it were begrudgingly.

 

Following the winding staircase into the darkness below the fortress, Eowyn was more than prepared to leave the warriors of Ithilien to their battle when she heard above her, the horn blaring once again. She paused in her advance below and puzzled at this second issue for the sounding of the great horn was not to be taken lightly. Though it may seem like a simple mechanism for alerting their warriors, there were complexities to its signal that was a language on its own and to her hearing at this moment, the great horn was telling her that something unexpected had taken place.

 

Despite the promises made to protect herself, Eowyn abandoned her descent momentarily and hurried up the steps, determined to learn what warranted the second sounding of the great horn. When she emerged on the surface once more, she saw that the urgency that was evident upon the faces of all warriors had changed drastically. She watched them for a moment, taking in the organised chaos that had become pandemonium. It appeared that suddenly, their preparations were no longer enough. More and more swords and arrows were being raced to the warriors on the wall. Spears and pikes were hoisted to the walls with the weapons kept in reserve now produced for apparent use. 

 

Elsewhere, the great doors were being fortified and braced, not merely with wood but wagons and barrels were being piled against the entrance, ensuring that even if the thick wooden doors would yield, no one would be able to penetrate the barricade being placed before it.  If the sudden need for more fortifications were not evidence enough for some alteration in their circumstances, then the panic and anxiety she saw in the faces of the men who rushed past her without looking up to notice her presence was proof enough. Eowyn felt her heard begin to pound in alarm and saw Beregond, the captain of the guard stationed against the wall, shouting orders to his men.

 

Eowyn picked up her skirts and hurried up the steps to the wall, determined to learn the truth.  Her heart was pounding so fiercely that she suspected she knew the answer even if it would take Beregond to confirm it.  Praying inwardly that she was wrong, she made her way to Ithilien’s trusted captain barely earning notice from Ithilien’swarriors who were too busy with their preparations. As she neared Beregond, the former soldier of Gondor lifted his gaze and caught sight of her before his expression evaporated into shock.

 

“Lady Eowyn!” Beregond exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You should be below with the rest of the women and children!”

 

“You know perfectly well that I am not just another woman Captain,” she said firmly, forgiving him his reaction because she was more interested in what they were facing. “Now what is happening? I hear the great horn sounding again and it does not appear to be the signal of the first.”

 

“No it is not, my lady,” Beregond answered, reaching the conclusion that he did not have time to argue with her about her safety because she would only turn a deaf ear and because at this moment, the presence of the shield maiden of Rohan was not an unwelcome thing.

 

“Look to the north,” he instructed Eowyn.

 

Eowyn followed his gaze and saw the army of the Wainriders of Rhun.  Despite having seen worse at Helm’s Deep and the battle of Pelennor, the army, four thousand strong, appeared quite formidable indeed. However, it should have been no shock to them because they had anticipated this very number when news had come from the Rangers of this eminent attack. These were large numbers to say the least, but there was enough troops left behind in Ithilien, when Faramir and Imrahil had set out to Lossarnach, to hold the Eastern Eye in such a conflict. They had been prepared for it. What had changed that struck so much fear into the hearts of these seasoned soldiers?

 

“It is the army of the Wainriders,” Eowyn nodded, “it is what we expected.”

 

“Come with me,” Beregond spoke as he started to move away from her. The captain travelled along the length of the wall, striding past the soldiers arming their quivers with as much arrows as it could carry, ensuring that other weapons were in close reach other than the swords in their scabbards. Eowyn called out to Beregond, insisting that the captain tell her where they were going. It was not only until they had reached the southern wall did he paused and regarded the lady.

 

“Look there,” he said simply.

 

Eowyn turned to the south and felt her breath catch in her throat, realising at last what had been the cause of the panic that was sweeping through the fortress. In the distance was the Easterling army. She knew that they were Easterlings because the army moving towards them like a swarm across the plain was surrounded by at least three dozen mumakils. The Easterlings were not alone, she saw the banner of the black serpent flying high above the invaders and knew that the Haradrim were also there. Her breath caught in her throat when she realised that she was looking at a force almost equal to the one she and her people had faced at Helm’s Deep.

 

“That was their plan,” she whispered softly.

 

“My lady?” Beregond stared at her.

 

“It was their plan,” Eowyn met his gaze somewhat dazed. “They attacked Lebethron, Lossarnach, Edoras and possibly Eden Ardhon to scattered our forces across Middle earth. It was Ithilien that they wanted all along. The other attacks were merely to draw away a good portion of our forces instead of keeping them here to protect our eastern borders. Ithilien is full of grain, north and south. From here, they can not only feed their army but they can also feed their people. Their lands are under threat of famine, they need Ithilien for its crops but so long as the Eastern Eye is fortified, they could never pillage it safely.”

 

“We have sent word to Lord Faramir,” Beregond answered,  “he will return soon with our armies.” It did not occur to Beregond to doubt her speculations because he had been captain of the guard in Ithilien long enough to know that the Lady Eowyn knew a good deal about war craft and often sat at her husband’s right hand to provide opinions in such matters. Lord Faramir loved her not only for her courage but also because she had the strategic acumen of a warrior.

 

“There are almost ten thousand warriors converging upon us like a pack of wolves. We but number two thousand in all totality, our ability to hold the Eastern Eye becomes uncertain with such odds,” she met his gaze.

 

Beregond opened his mouth to answer but Eowyn gave him no chance to speak.

 

“However, we will hold this fortress,” she said firmly, walking past him. “If I have discerned this plan then I am certain that Faramir and Aragorn will do so soon enough if they have not already. We will prevail until those reinforcements arrives.”

 

“They will not breach this walls my lady,” Beregond spoke with more confidence than he felt but neither he nor the Lady Eowyn were willing to admit this fact to each other.

 

Faith in their ability to overcome would be a far greater tool to their survival than all the weapons in Ithilien. Without speaking the words, Eowyn and Beregond made an unspoken pact that no matter what happened during the course of the battle, their faith in the ability to overcome would be unshakeable. The warriors who battled this night had to believe that no matter how strong the enemy appeared to be. Eowyn remembered how Theoden had fought at Helm’s Deep. They had held for as long they did because of his unshakeable belief that they would prevail and she was determined that it would be the same here. They would survive.

 

“I supposed it would be useless for me to tell you that you would be safer below?” Beregond met her eyes with a faint smile after the moment had passed and the understanding between them was cemented.

“Even my lord would not be able to keep me out of this battle,” Eowyn returned with a faint smile. “What makes you think you will succeed where he could not?”

 

“I was a fool to assume such,” he replied with unhidden admiration. “I would have you safely below, my lady, but you slew the Witch King and fought with us at the Battle of Pelennor. You are too skilled to be wasted waiting below.”

 

“Thank you,” Eowyn answered graciously, but this was one battle she wished she did not have to fight.

 

* * *

 

_Dernhelm_ _breathes once more._

 Gazing into the mirror of her chambers, Eowyn had dressed alone and tried to ignore the overwhelming sound of silence within the empty halls of the royal residence. In stark contrast to the quiet within, the sounds of preparation beyond its walls were at a juggernaut pace. The enemy was not far, she surmised by the haste in which everyone was moving. She would need to join them soon. Tying her long golden hair into a thick braid, she then turned her attention to the most important aspect of her preparation.

 

Adjusting the belt around her waist, she ensured that the sheath of her sword hung comfortably from her hip. Once it was secured, Eowyn slipped Anglachel into its scabbard. The sword, forged by the Dark Elf Eol, had come to her when she and Arwen had set out on the quest to keep the ancient enemy Glaurung from infusing the spirit of Morgoth in Arwen’s unborn child. They had retrieved the weapon after slaying the worms guarding it and then used the weapon to slay Glaurung himself.  Arwen had made a gift of the sword to Eowyn after the quest was done, as a gesture of gratitude for her courage.

 

When Eowyn looked into the mirror and saw the Shield Maiden of Rohan staring back at her, she knew she was ready at last for the battle ahead. She turned to leave the chamber shared by herself and her lord when suddenly, the will to leave faded. In a daze, her eyes drifted to her belly, her hand leaving the hilt of her sword to caress gently the slight swell of her stomach. No one else in Emyn Arnen knew and if she died today, they would never know.

 

“I did not mean for this to happen,” she said softly, as if the child nesting comfortably in her belly could hear and understand her. “I did not wish to fight but the choice is taken from me in this.  I am what I am, my child. I am the daughter of kings, and it is has been in my lot for as long as I can remember to be what I am. I no longer know how to deny it.  For you I would have lowered my sword but the battle beyond these walls will not allow me the chance to do nothing. So I must go and risk both of us. I wish that it had not come to this, I wish that your father were here and I grieve that I did not tell him about you because he deserved to know the glimmer of hope that you were, even briefly. I wish that I were different but I am not. They are our people and they need me.”

 

And with that, Eowyn looked up and hurried out of the chamber to join the battle.

 

* * *

 

In stony silence, the defenders of Ithilien watched as the Wainriders reached the foot of Emyn Arnen and advanced no further. The enemy lowered their shields and their weapons, keeping themselves beyond the reach of Ithilien’s archers and simply waited. They made no move towards the fortress and this lack of movement was harder against the nerves of those on the wall, then open combat.  This limbo seemed to breed greater anxiety upon the warriors of Ithilien though it was no mystery why the enemy had chosen to wait.  The noonday sun rose high in the clouds and crossed across the sky into afternoon before the wait for both sides came to and end.

 

The Easterlings and the Haradrim, having met at the banks of the Anduin as each army neared Emyn Arnen, now moved as one and made their way northwards at a rapid pace. They were led by their mumakils whose size and strength was capable of accomplishing what a thousand men armed with battering rams could not, and that was to break open the gates of the fortress.  They reached the Wainriders and the army of Rhun as the afternoon grew late and as the sun began to set, turned their eyes to their quarry in the twilight hour. Once the enemy was gathered in its terrible numbers, the defenders of Ithilien held their breaths in anticipation of the inevitable order to proceed.  Warriors rushed to the gate, armed with long spears and equally sharp pikes, painfully aware that if the gate was breached then the Eastern Eye would be lost and perhaps with it, Ithilien itself.

 

“UNTASARE!”

 

The word had no recognition to the people of the Westerness for the language was that of that Haradrim but of it’s meaning there could be no doubt. The earth shuddered as the great horde began its swift advance across the hills framing the peak of Emyn Arnen. They moved across the land like an ocean swell, a tide of bodies rushing to meet the shore. The mumakils numbers were divided with one contingent taking the beaten path of dirt through the hills that would lead them straight to the main entrance of the fortress while the other advanced with their army. The great beasts curled their trunks and raised their heads as they charged, dozens of men borne on their backs, ensuring that once they broke through, there would be warriors to flood the opening.

 

It was decided that there were too many of the enemy to meet them on the field so the defense would take place on the wall. Archers lined its length, with bows armed, ready to release a deadly barrage upon the enemy as soon as they neared.  Beregond took charge of directing the archers while Eowyn hurried along the wall to the gates because she was certain that it was there that they were at their most vulnerable. She saw the awesome might of the mumakils moving up the path towards the great doors and knew that the warriors charged with barring that entry to the enemy were rushing to brace the door even as she stood watching.

 

“Release!” Beregond’s voice snapped her out of her observation and she turned to see a wall of arrows surging through the air like a black storm. They slammed into the enemy with such force that the sudden halt of so many was like a ripple in the tide. As they fell to the ground, the others behind them forged on ahead, trampling them underfoot without concern. Though the journey took them over hilly terrain, it did not hinder their rapid progress at all and they scaled the hills separating them from the fortress with surprising speed. More arrows tore into their numbers and the cycle of death was repeated as they neared the base of the wall. Some had paused to return arrows of their own.

 

Eowyn flinched seeing crossbows employed, thinking how much like Melia’s weapon they looked.  It was easy to forget Melia’s origins because of their friendship but the lady of Eden Ardhon had made no secret of it. Melia was not ashamed of where she had come from, merely saddened by the way her people had been moulded to suit Morgoth’s and then later on, Sauron’s purpose. Eowyn wondered what Melia must think of all this and hoped that she would survive enough to see her friend again. 

 

A scream brought her back to the moment when she saw an arrow embed itself in one of the soldiers near her. His scream followed him to the ground when he toppled over the edge of the wall and landed hard.  Eowyn immediately took cover behind the wall and crawled to avoid the reach of arrows parlaying back and forth between invaders and defenders. The enemy had yet to reach the wall but she could hear the rumble of their approach growing louder in her ears with each second.  Upon reaching the gate, she saw the bracing continuing and the barricade growing so large that even with the doors were to yield, the enemy would have difficulty entering.

Looking over the edge of the walls, she saw the mumakils were making better time than their human counterparts. Their journey along the road created a cloud of dust around them, making it difficult to see the exact number of men they carried. Their size was so enormous that they stood almost the height of the wall and Eowyn wondered if it was wholly possible to keep them out.  They were not far now, within the reach of arrows and Eowyn knew the order to shoot would have to come soon. They had to stops the animals from reaching the gates because she suspected that despite all the precautions, the barricades would not hold.

 

“Shoot now!” Eowyn shouted.

 

“We must wait until they are closer!” One of the minor captains leading the defense of the gates protested.

 

“You cannot afford to!” Eowyn barked back sharply, her eyes shifting back and forth from the mumakils to the man before her. “You must keep as many of them away from the gates as possible. I do not know if we will be able to stop one, let alone five! NOW SHOOT!”

 

The captain wrestled with the decision briefly, his face showing his anxiety at what was coming at them. The thick horns alone would have little trouble spearing the wooden doors, to say nothing of what their physical strength was capable of doing.

 

“We do not have a great deal of time!” Eowyn insisted, prompting him into a decision.

 

“Release the arrows!” He shouted turning away.

 

The archers let loose their arrows, causing a deadly barrage to strike the charging mumakils. The beasts bellowed in pain as some of the arrows met their mark but their thick hides made any serious damage impossible. The bombardment had better affect upon the men perched upon the creatures’ backs then the mumakils themselves. Their charge did not halt despite the arrows that could be seen protruding from their bodies, trailing rivulets of blood down their flanks.  If anything the pain seemed to make them run faster and their bellowing grew louder and louder as they approached the door.

 

Eowyn and the warriors stationed on the wall quickly grabbed spears while others armed themselves with pikes, as the distance between the gates and the mumakils grew shorter. They had to avoid being struck by archers riding the backs of the beasts, attempting to clear the path to the gate. She flung her spear as far as it would go and had some measure of success as the weapon struck the first in the throat. However, while the pain registered upon the creature, it did little to hinder its advance. The beast was simply too big to be halted in that fashion. Eowyn was starting to wonder if anything could.

 

“Brace yourselves!” She heard someone shout.

 

Eowyn quickly grabbed hold of the stone edge as she saw the distance between the mumakils and the gate close. 

 

“Archers! We must kill as many of the riders as we can!” She shouted to anyone listening. It seemed like the more achievable goal then attempting to stop the mumakils.

 

Her advice seemed to be accepted as wise for a phalanx of arrows was soon surging across the sky towards the enemy.  It struck many of the riders upon the back of the mumakils as the beast near the gate and sent many falling to their deaths after they were pierced by arrows. Unfortunately, this success was small in comparison to the calamity that would befall the fortress now that the mumakils were upon them. The beasts slammed into the gates so hard that even the stone pillars beside it shuddered in protest. Eowyn could see chunks of mortar coming loose from the cracks where the stone slabs met.  She was forced to hold fast or be thrown to the ground like many of the men on the wall. The wooden gates strained against the impact but managed to hold for the moment. The collision renewed attempts to bring down the animals but the mumakils were quick to resume their relentless pounding. The defenders were now hurling anything they could lay their hands upon to stop the beasts from breaking through.

 

Eowyn hurled spears at the beast that was soon joined by another and under the heavy assault of these formidable creatures; she could feel the wall beginning to weaken. The wooden gates were buckling under the strain of the mumakils’ bombardment. Wood began to splinter despite the best efforts of the defenders to brace the doors. Unfortunately, it was a losing battle as the pounding continued without pause until at last, the doors gave way dull crack of wood tearing apart. Not only did the door give way but the back of the bracing was snapped in half under the power of the mumakils. Even the wall to which the doors were attached broke apart with a great heave.

 

Eowyn felt the weight of the floor give way beneath her, and only managed to keep herself from being buried under debris of the collapsing wall because she had dug her nails deep into the stone and refused to be pulled down. Others were not so fortunate though they were unable to lament their fate from beneath the pile of stones they had been buried.  Eowyn pulled herself to safety and look below her, hoping that not all who had fallen had been entombed. Yet she could see no signs of life, no heaving of dust and rock to indicate that someone was burrowing out of their prison.  Nor was there any time to dig them out if any were injured because once the wall had crumbled, the enemy had directed its attention from the frontal assault to the infiltration of the newly created opening.

 

The invasion of the fortress appeared to split on two fronts, from the diverted force attempting to scale the walls, and the contingent of warriors riding the backs of the mumakils had broken through the gates.  The beasts forced themselves past the opening, ferrying their masters deeper into the walls of the Eastern Eye. Once within the perimeter of the walls, the Easterlings lowered themselves to the ground with ropes. Eowyn watched in growing horror at the growing number of enemy filling the floor below her. With a heavy heart, she began to see the fortress was taken; that the beloved home she shared with Faramir would fall.

 

Valor did not come without a price, she told herself and unsheathed her sword.  Along the wall, she could see the enemy beginning to overwhelm the exhausted warriors of Ithilien who had fought bravely and continued to fight, even though each of them that fell was replaced by another enemy troops penetrating their front. It would be a fight to death, she decided as she rushed forward to ensure that she did not go to her end without ensuring a good many of the enemy went with her. Eowyn swung Anglachel at the first Easterling warrior that came into sight, taking his head away from his shoulders in one single strike. The decapitated skull spun into the air as the body dropped to the floor without further resistance.

 

Eowyn did not wait to see where it landed before another enemy soldier confronted her. The curved blade came at her with the same force she had delivered to his predecessor.  She blocked it easily, no stranger to a stronger opponent because her sparring partner had been a man of the Mark, a race of physical strength in comparison to these Easterlings who were lean, agile and relied more upon cunning than power to fight.  Unfortunately for him, being a woman, Eowyn’s fighting skills were an amalgamation of both.  She kicked out with her foot as their swords met, the ball of her heel meeting the soft flesh of his stomach and driving him backwards, breaking their connection. Whilst he was off balance, she surged forward in a powerful offensive. He tried to recover the weakness but Eowyn never gave him the change and tore open his chest before he could raise his sword to deflect her blow.

 

Realising that a formidable warrior had entered their midst, at least three of them charged her. Eowyn dodged the blow of the first as he struck. Slipping under his blade, she took a swipe at the second closing in on her, slicing his throat with a well-coordinated strike. Blood spilled forth from his bleeding throat as he dropped to his knees. Eowyn turned around and caught the blade of the first, forcing him back with an equally powerful strike. He staggered slightly but did not falter and returned with even more ferocity. Eowyn defended herself capably before her senses felt the presence of the third, waiting for the moment to inflict the killing blow. Her eyes turned just in time to see a sword raised over her head, the blade about to come down upon her skull. She had little chance to do anything as she was still fighting his companion, and was struck by this terrible feeling of failure because she was about to die.

 

Suddenly, the point of an arrow burst through his chest.

 

The sudden death of his comrades distracted both her opponent and Eowyn for a brief instance but it was Eowyn who recovered first because it was her life that had suddenly been given a chance of continuing. She smashed a fist wrapped in a gauntlet of mail into his faceplate, causing blood to spill from the seams and impaled him with Anglachel before he had opportunity to do anything else. Without wasting any time, she promptly shoved him over the edge of the walkway, not bothering to see his fate upon hitting the ground.  Turning to the man who had died, Eowyn’s eyes noticed something she had been unable to earlier. Her hand flew to the arrow and ran her thumb across its flight.

 

It was elven.

 

Turning sharply in the direction of where it had come, she saw what the other defenders of Ithilien were now beginning to notice themselves. In the nearby distance, closing in on the dark forces arrayed against them was an army of light. Armour shinning like polished gold, astride horses without saddles, directed by a language man would never understand or be able to speak, the elves made their arrival. 

 

For a moment, Eowyn thought she was dreaming for an alliance of men and elves had not existed in three thousand years, not since the defeat of Sauron when the ring had been cut from his hand. She blinked and saw that they did not fade like a dream was meant to but were still closing in. They had begun the slaughter of the enemy with arrows, sending a deadly barrage that met every mark aimed. The enemy army turned away from the Eastern Eye to confront this new threat that numbered in the thousands. Eowyn did not think she would see so many elves in her lifetime. She did not even think that there were so many left in Middle earth, but it appeared she was wrong. She estimated an army, at least four thousand strong.

 

Relief flooded into her being upon seeing the elves approaching the enemy flank. Now the defenders of Ithilien could focus on expelling the mumakils from their walls.  The enemy had began to drift away from the wall as they prepared to engage the elves while some still remained at the wall, dividing their forces even further. A dark shadow suddenly loomed over her whilst her attention was focussed on the shift of the battle. Eowyn swung around to meet his new threat and saw herself facing a mumakils that was charging at the wall, out of control. The beast’s body was a bloody collection of pikes, spears and arrows. She could see the pain in its eyes as it rumbled forward.

 

“JUMP!” She heard someone shout.

 

Without thinking twice, Eowyn leapt into the air, when the swaying trunk of the animal struck her hard and swatted her aside like a fly. Eowyn felt the pain coursing through her body as the ground rushed up to meet her. Struck by the fear of what was coming, she managed to pull her knees beneath her chin, and holding her body into a tight ball before she landed, protecting her child as much as she was capable. She did not even know where Anglachel had gone, aware only briefly that it was torn from her hands.  Thoughts such as this moved through her mind at the pace of an instant before she saw the ground reaching for her. Her landing was hard. The pain surged through her side and progressed across the rest of her, dragging a curtain of blackness over her entire being until she knew nothing more.

 

 

* * *

For the elves, the attack upon Eden Ardhon was not a warning of neutrality but a declaration of war.

The race of men, save perhaps the heirs of the Numenor, existed under the belief that the elves were a peaceful race, beings of starlight that had long ago transcended the ugly emotions that still plagued all others. The elves were an ideal of purity and grace, a monument to the splendour of a past golden age that faded rapidly in decline. Perhaps it was this perception that contributed to the ignorance of the race’s nature. Serenity and peace was merely a by-product of being ageless. Once could not live so long without learning nothing and the elves had ample of time to become better than what they were because they had been provided with immortality to do so. 

 

The myth had become so prevalent that the reality of what they once were, had been forgotten. The elves had lived during the worst ages of Middle earth, they had survived Morgoth and wars that made Sauron’s bid for power pale in comparison and they did so because they knew how to defend themselves and they knew how to win despite overwhelming odds.  When wronged, they hungered for battle as thirstily as any other race and they avenged with as much vigour.

 

The attack on Eden Ardhon had shaken them to the core because all were incensed by the arrogance that permitted the enemy to forget who they were dealing with. The enemy had dared to believe that the elves would bow down to intimidation when not even Sauron or Morgoth had made them falter in their course. When Thranduil announced to the Woodland realm what had happened to Eden Ardhon, the fury displayed by Legolas became a firestorm that would not burn itself out until the enemy was vanquished. Many of the elves in the Woodland Realm were kin to those who had been killed or defiled in Eden Ardhon, and honour demanded that restitution be made in blood.

 

At East Lorien, similar outrage was expressed. Celeborn had been easy to convince because Miriel had been a loyal friend and ally to his wife Galadriel and the dishonour to her sparked his fury.  Haldir, whose feeling for the Lady Melia had simmered in a deep friendship, shared Legolas need to exact vengeance upon the Easterlings who presumed to defile the Lady of Eden Ardhon.   Within days, an army that likes of which had not been assembled for many millennia departed the forest of Mirkwood and made swift journey southwards.  They had not travelled far when they discovered that another army was on the move, only a few days before them.

 

It was Legolas who discerned where they were going and ordered that the army he commanded with Haldir, as his lieutenant, to make haste, for it appeared Ithilien would need their aid.  Thranduil and Celeborn had remained in their respective realms, preferring to allow Legolas and Haldir to lead their armies since they were needed to rule. Word had also been sent to Imladris that should Elladan and Elrohir choose to involve themselves within this conflict then Rohan would benefit from their aid now that the goblins of Moria had allied themselves with the Dunlendings.  The lands of Rohan had to be guarded now that the formidable cavalry of the Rohirrim was divided between providing aid to Gondor as well as guarding their own borders.

 

In the meantime, they had work to do in Ithilien. Legolas knew that the Gondorian army was not far away. Upon discovering the presence of an army making its way to Ithilien, Legolas had sent riders at best speed to intercept the Gondorian army and alert them of the danger.  Whether or not those forces arrived at Emyn Arnen in time did not matter much in the scheme of things because the elves would reach the besieged fortress first.

 

Upon approaching the fortress called the Eastern Eye, Legolas with his keen eyes had seen Faramir’s lady, Eowyn battling a trio of enemy warriors. The elf could not help but admire the skill of the woman to be able to defend herself, because her swordsmanship was easily one of the best he had ever seen. However, the numbers were against her and as he saw the one of her attackers preparing to deliver a fatal blow, the archer immediately drew his an arrow from his bow and dispatched quickly her would be killer.

 

“Haldir!” He called out to the march warden in elvish. “Take half our people to help with the defence of the wall! The rest of you follow me. The fortress has been breached by the mumakils. Unless we drive them out, there will tear it apart!”

 

The army of elves separated like a flock of birds parted against the wind. Legolas saw Haldir urging those behind him to charge at the enemy at the wall.  The prince of the Woodland Realms and the Lord of Eden Ardhon was determined to kill every last invader within the walls of Ithilien because mumakils were the beasts of burden for Easterlings. Legolas was almost certain it was they who had invaded Eden Ardhon and defiled his beloved Melia.  As he led the charge towards the breached gates, gapping open like wound, Legolas was determined to make the enemy pay in blood for what they had done to her.

 

He carved himself a path to the gates in bodies as arrow after arrow escaped Galadriel’s gift to him, meeting their mark with each effort. Bodies felt away like the wind blowing away leaves until he passed through the ruin gate and began to turn his attention to the mumakils. The beasts were big and they towered over the horses flooding the fortress the same ways the enemy had done earlier. Under the direction of their masters, the huge beasts were now assaulting the protective walls around the fortress with similar. Ithilien’s warriors were having great difficulty trying to defend the wall against the invaders when they had to fear the mumakils.

 

Legolas thought quickly and an idea came to him at that moment. He searched the chaos of fighting around him and saw what he needed. Slinging his bow over his shoulder, Legolas removed his sword and cut his way through to the torch that had so far managed to remain undisturbed. Once there, he put away his weapon once more and retrieved his bow. Arming it with an arrow, Legolas lowered the arrowhead into the fire and saw the flame snaking down the shaft. It did not take long before the arrowhead was burning with strength and Legolas took aim, his blue eyes fixed upon the beasts’ harness.

 

Releasing the arrow, Legolas watched as it sailed through the air and struck the wooden contraption on the mumakil’s back that held so many of their soldiers who was raining death upon Ithilien with arrows. The fire of one arrow did not spread as much as Legolas believed it would so the elf lord delivered another and then more, until he had used so many arrows that the fires burning on the harness was able to do nothing but spread. The mumakil’s panic was evident by the bellow it made upon discovering the proximity of this natural danger to itself. Swaying about widely, the beast attempted to shake of the burden on its back that was now billowing with smoke. It smashed through the opening it had created in a bid to douse the flames, it trunks flaying about in naked panic.

 

“The rest of you!” Legolas ordered the other elves and archers capable of hearing him. “Follow my lead. Breath your arrows with flame and let it fly. If the enemy chooses to remain in this fortress with their beasts, then we will burn them out!”

 

The mumakils that Legolas had set alight had completely brought down the gates and the doorway that held it. As soon as the beasts had cleared the fortress, it dropped to its knees and then rolled onto its back. The Easterlings who had not wisely chosen to jump off the creature’s back was crushed under its tremendous weight as it tried desperately to smother the flames consuming the offending harness. Their screams cut short with shocking finality.  Legolas’ example soon had many of Ithilien’s archers, including the elves themselves,  making the same assault upon the mumakils. Terrified that they would meet the same fate as the first, the mumakils masters prudently withdrew.

 

Legolas was glad of this but the battle was not done, the beasts under the mastery of the Easterlings were still dangerous even if he had driven them out of the immediate vicinity.  His use of fire had driven them out of the fortress but he was not about let any of the Easterlings ferried on their backs, survive. The beasts were not responsible for the actions of their masters and Legolas preferred not to harm them if he could avoid it. Issuing orders to a small portion of the elves riding at his side, Legolas sent them after the mumakils fleeing the threat of fire.  None of the Easterlings were going to survive this day, not if he had anything to do with it.

 

The elves arrival provided much needed spirit to the defenders of Emyn Arnen who launched themselves into battle with an unprecedented surge of determination. Despite the terrible destruction wrought by the mumakils, and the fact that many of their people lay dead, they were determined to make the enemy pay for this insult.  However if they thought their determination was fierce, then they were somewhat astonished by the frenzy by which the elves battled their enemy.  The elves were thought to be a dwindling power in Middle earth and many of the warriors at Emyn Arnen had never even seen them until now. They carried images of a fair and graceful folk, compassionate and wise. It was quite sobering to find that the reality was quite different.

 

The Easterlings were suffering the brunt of the elves’ fury.  It seemed as if every elf who had opportunity to slaughter an Easterling did so with almost cruel relish.  There was vengeance in their eyes though many defenders were uncertain what had caused such rage. It was rather frightening to see the elves sweeping through the enemy, armed with daggers, swords and bows like a scourge that might have been envisioned by Morgoth himself.  Their attacks were almost frenzied and so violent that after a time, the warriors of Emyn Arnen began to see real fear in the eyes of the enemy.

 

They appeared to prefer dying at the hands of men rather than elves.  As the Easterling bodies began to pile, the warriors of Ithilien could well understand why.

* * *

 

 

Danallar of Harad was beginning to see that he had made a fatal mistake.

 

His gamble to keep the elves out of the conflict with the Reunified Kingdom had not only failed but had ignited the fires of fury he had never seen in the race before this. It had been three thousand years since the elves had gone to war and Danallar had hoped that the years of peace had inured the race to the desire for battle. Their departure from Middle Earth seemed to indicate the truth in this belief. He had thought the attack upon Eden Ardhon would strengthen the elves resolve to depart Middle Earth, not embark upon a path of violence that was starting to bear all the marks of a holy crusade.

 

As he watched Legolas Greenleaf leading the elven army, inciting any elf in hearing distance to kill every Easterling in sight, he began to understand the full weight of his error. The elves would turn the tide and unlike Gondor and Rohan, would not stop when they were forced back to their own lands.  It was entirely possible that they might pursue the Confederacy back to home soil. That possibility shook the leader of the war effort to the core for he had not anticipated this outcome. However, seeing the fury of the elves told Dallanar he could not take the chance. It was Legolas who was leading them, Legolas whose rage was the match that had set the others aflame.

 

It was Legolas he had to kill.

* * *

 

When Legolas heard the enemy calling for retreat, he was almost disappointed.

 

He had lost count of how many he had killed this day but was certain that if he chose to tally the number, he would have won his contest with Gimli a dozen times over. Yet despite the blood on his hands, his rage was far from abated. All he had to do to set his anger aflame once more was to think about his wife, the despair on her face after they had violated her and killed Anna in front of her. His anger surged through his veins with such intensity he could barely contain it.  Across the Eastern Eye, Legolas could see the large number of enemy forces becoming large number of dead bodies and still it did not feel as if it was enough.

 

The mumakils had been driven away from the fortress and now the beasts stood placidly at the foothill of Emyn Arnen now that their masters were killed. He saw the warriors of Emyn Arnen were now on the offensive, driving the enemy from their walls. They had fought a good battle, Legolas thought to himself, though he was somewhat concerned for he had not sighed Lady Eowyn since the elves arrived at the fortress. He offered a silent prayer to the Valar that she was safe. Across the length of the Eastern Eye, the enemy was departing in great numbers.  Legolas led Arod to the ruined gate, preparing to issue an order to give pursuit when something tugged at the edge of his senses and forced him to turn.

 

Someone slammed so hard into his body that the elf did not have time to utter a cry. The force of his attack was such that he was unseated from the saddle and landed heavily on the ground below. Arod snorted in dismay, unable to do anything but step back so as to avoid trampling his master. Legolas shook his head to rid himself of disorientation when suddenly, a boot slammed into his side breaking ribs with one swift kick. The elf let out a cry of pain but recovered in time to see a shape looming over him, a sword held in the air preparing to deliver a fatal blow.

 

Legolas flipped upright and stepped back just as the blade came down on the space where he would have been. The elf unsheathed the daggers he carried on his back for his sword had fallen out of his grip when this new enemy had waylaid him. Legolas stared for a moment at the tall Easterling warrior glaring at him. The elf recognised him immediately as the same opponent that Aragorn had battled at Lossarnach. Indeed the wound caused by Legolas’ arrow was still apparent upon the flesh of his arm.  This was the leader of Easterling Confederacy.

 

“You are their king,” Legolas stated.

 

“I am their king,” the enemy answered.

 

“We have business you and I,” Legolas said icily.

 

“Indeed we do,” the tall man agreed. “I will kill you tonight.”

 

“You may try,” Legolas answered.

 

The call of retreat was still echoing throughout the fortress but the man did not move to escape the elf’s presence. Instead, he came at Legolas swinging. The elf lord dodged the effort easily and slashed at the enemy’s body with an almost casual swipe. The Easterling king hissed and spun around, his eyes narrowing for a more cunning attack.

 

“I plan to honour those who took your wife,” he sneered, baring his white teeth against the dark flesh of his lips.

 

He regretted the words as soon as he had spoken them, he saw something in the elf’s eyes that made him shudder in fear. It was as if the storm had suddenly been given life from Legolas’ intense fury. It rose to the surface with shocking speed and before he could question what he was done, the elf lord was lunging at him. 

 

Legolas struck every blow the Easterling king offered barely noticing it. He moved with speed only another elf could match and continued repelling the enemy’s efforts to strike as if he were a child, fencing for the first time. Legolas was relentless in his attack, driving the man of Harad back with each contact of steel. He noticed nothing of the battle raging around him, his world shrinking into a circle inhabited by two beings, himself and the enemy.  Legolas allowed the storm to sweep him away, relishing its power as it helped him to focus himself as he had never been before. His mind was so painfully clear, as was his vengeance. Blood was not enough.

 

Blood was never going to be enough.

 

When the king’s blade was finally ripped from his hands as he lay pinned against the wall, both of Legolas’ daggers against his skin, the elven lord’s fury seemed to simmer somewhat.

 

“Go on!” The enemy hissed. “Kill me!”

 

“It would make things simpler,” Legolas replied, wanting him to make no mistake that he was conflicted about this. “Take your head and the war ends with your blood spilling.”

 

“Then do it,” the king glared at him. “Do it!”

 

Legolas pushed the blade of one dagger harder against his throat, until the edge bit skin and caused the enemy to flinch. Legolas could hear his heart pounding in his chest, could smell the fear and defiance oozing off his skin and still, it was not enough to sate his hatred for this man and all he had done, not merely to the elves but to his friends throughout Middle earth.

 

“No,” Legolas shook his head. “I will not kill you.”

 

“Then you are not as strong as I thought,” the king hissed.

 

“What is your name?” Legolas asked.

 

“I did not give Gondor’s king my name, I will not give it to you.” He replied defiantly.

 

“Very well,” Legolas answered and took a step back, his weapons lowering as he stared at Aragorn’s nemesis and the object of his deep hatred. “I will not kill you. You do not deserve to die just yet. You have violated my wife and my people because you dared to presume to know elves. In the days to come, I hope you will come to understand how much of an error you have made by that assumption. We  have been awakened and now that we are awake, we will not stop until it is  _your_  city that burns, your people that are dead. Do you understand what you have unleashed upon your race?”

 

The king did not speak because he  _did_  know but could not bear to answer.

 

 “We are coming for you and all who have stood by you,” Legolas replied. “The war is just beginning.”

 


	11. The Pauses In Between

Much had taken place by the time Faramir and Aragorn arrived at Ithilien.

 

Following his encounter with the leader of the Easterling Confederacy, Legolas had released the enemy, relishing a little the fear in his eyes as the man fled his sight, burdened with knowledge that he had unleashed something terrible upon his people by his actions in Eden Ardhon. The call to retreat had seen the enemy and their mumakils fleeing towards the mountains of Ephel Duath, no doubt to begin the journey southwards. Legolas had no doubt in his mind that the enemy would be returning to their own lands following this battle. The leader of the Confederacy knew Legolas had made no idle threat and that the elves would march upon the lands of Rhun and Harad in good order.

 

For the moment, however, Middle earth found itself in the eye of the storm that was elven rage. Once the enemy had retreated, the men of Ithilien could not deny that there was intensity to the Eldar’s anger that made them uneasy despite the elves aid in achieving this victory. Most had never seen elves and those who had been in their presence before had never seen the race so enraged. While it was gratifying to know that the elves could be just as prone to the darker emotions, it was also unnerving at the same time. Fortunately, this rage was reduced to a simmering heat once the battle was done and the character of the elven warriors took on a less intimidating air.

 

Despite their victory against the enemy, the cost was still great. Many warriors of Ithilien lay dead, killed by the overwhelming numbers of the enemy prior to the elves’ arrival, or crushed underfoot of the rampaging mumakils. The fortress of the Eastern Eye had suffered considerable damage with the collapse of many of its walls. The victors, both men and elf, shifted through the debris and the rubble, seeking out the injured and the dead. The euphoria of victory had dwindled into the sombre mood of grief. Even the elves for all their rage, felt the sorrow for the dead of Ithilien as well as their own. There was to be no celebration until the dead were buried and mourned.

 

Into this, did Aragorn and Faramir arrive a day later.

 

As Legolas had asked, Aragorn led the elves of Eden Ardhon to Minas Tirith for their own safety. Aragorn was rather doubtful of Legolas’ ability to convince the intractable Thranduil that the elves should fight but he agreed with the prince that none of the elves of Eden Ardhon were safe in South Ithilien until the enemy was driven out of their territories. Upon seeing them safely to the White City, Aragorn and his company, which included all the warriors of Eden Ardhon, reached Imrahil who had been in charge of the greater portion of Gondor’s armies. Upon assuming command of his army, they marched to Emyn Arnen to await Legolas and to call another council of war. A message had been sent to Rohan, asking Eomer’s attendance for it appeared the situation required discussion since their enemies were far stronger than any of them envisioned.

 

Aragorn could not begin to imagine what was running through the mind of Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor when he arrived at Emyn Arnen and saw the Eastern Eye in near ruin. When the message had first reached them of the impending attack upon the fortress and the subsequent reports that told of another army approaching Emyn Arnen from the south instead of the north, they had feared the worst and rightly so. Realising that it was likely that the Haradrim army that had assailed Lossarnach was merging with the Easterlings who had sacked Eden Ardhon, both king and steward came to the conclusion that the defense of Ithilien could not possibly repel an army of that size.

 

Faramir had remained sedate until the Eastern Eye had come into sight.

In stark contrast to his brother Boromir, Aragorn had learned that Faramir preferred to think his way out of difficulty rather than fight. Like all men he was prone to bursts of temper, but these were rare. It was not Faramir’s way to rush in without thinking. It was a shame that Denethor had put such little stock in his second son because the truth of it, at least in Aragorn’s opinion, was that Faramir would have been far better suited to rule then his older brother. As Steward, he was invaluable to Aragorn because his was a meticulous mind, paying attention to every detail of a situation where Aragorn’s view was much broader. Together, they made a formidable team and Aragorn had come to regard him as greatly as he regarded Faramir’s dead brother.

 

When the lord of Ithilien saw his realm in such a state of ruin, that calm deliberation had vanished to near panic and for someone like Faramir who had learned to control his emotions to hide from his father the pain of rejection, it quite something to see his deconstruction. Despite the timely arrival of the elves from Lorien and the Woodland Realm, Aragorn knew that Faramir feared the fate of not only his people but also his wife. As they walked past the bodies of the dead awaiting burial, the king of Gondor wondered how many times he would be forced to do this, to arrive with his friends to scenes of terrible tragedy.

 

“Where is the Lady Eowyn?” Faramir demanded the moment he entered what passed for the royal court of Ithilien.

 

Anticipating the first order of business for their lord upon his return, the summons was given to Tadgh, the chief physician in the house of healing. The man made his appearance before Aragorn’s efforts to calm him down fail quickly and Faramir went searching for Eowyn himself. Tadgh appeared worn and exhausted, his clothes covered with blood and grime, stark indication of how the healer had spent his days since the war had been brought to the Ithilien.

 

“She is well my lord,” Tadgh said quickly, allaying the Steward’s worst fears.

 

“Where is she?” Faramir asked again. “Why does she not come to meet me?”

 

“She is resting,” Tadgh offered immediately.

  
”Was she injured?” Aragorn asked as he saw Faramir’s relief that Eowyn still lived.

 

“Yes,” Tadgh nodded. “During the battle.”

 

“She was fighting?” Gimli exclaimed

 

“Did you think she would not?” Aragorn gave him a look.

 

“It was the reason I asked her to remain here,” Faramir said softly. “I know how formidable she is in battle and I wanted her to remain here so that she could give hope to our people if difficult times came upon Ithilien in my absence. How badly was she hurt?” He looked up fearfully at Tadgh’s face, almost afraid to ask.

 

“Her leg was broken and she took a nasty knock to the head but she survived well enough,” Tadgh was happy to report. “However, I prefer that she remain in her bed for a time. It is never wise to gamble with the lady’s health under these circumstances.”

 

“What circumstances?” Faramir stared at him, the gratitude flooding into his body that Eowyn was not dead or grievously injured, stopped short with that seemingly curious statement.

 

“She is with child,” Tadgh responded without hesitation and did not realise until the blank astonishment had crossed his lord’s face that he had spoken out of turn. “You did not know?”

 

“With child?” Faramir stammered.

 

“Yes,” the healer nodded. “Due in the summer I believe.”

 

Faramir was at a loss for words and for a moment, he did not know what to say. Suddenly, the pieces felt together in place. Her strange behaviour prior to his leaving Ithilien, the reason why she agreed that it was not her place to fight or to travel. She had known! She had known then and not told him. He understood why of course and it was very much in keeping with her character for she was at the heart of her, a warrior and understood the danger of distractions.

 

“Congratulations my boy!” Gimli slapped him on the back with that hearty wish.

 

“This is good news Faramir,” Aragorn said with real pleasure for his friend because it proved life prevailed despite all the death surrounding them. This was news of great hope to all of them, particularly after the dark days they had seen of late. “I am happy for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Faramir replied, still somewhat dazed by it all. He knew of only one remedy that could assuage his state of mind.

 

He needed to see his wife.

* * *

 

 

As anticipated, his lady was not at all happy to be confined to bed even for the sake of her health.

 

Faramir paused at the doorway after entering their private chambers and saw Eowyn lying in her bed, attempting shift her broken foot into a position of comfort with the only thing that was close at hand; her sword. Leaning forward was apparently too much for her as she resorted this most unconventional method of moving her leg to a more comfortable position. Faramir watched her engaged in this activity for a moment, reluctant to give himself away because he wanted to simply look at her and bask in the pleasure at knowing that she lived and that she was carrying his child.

 

“You know I am certain that was not the intended use of that weapon,” Faramir announced himself with a smile after she had dropped Anglachel on the floor with frustration.

 

Eowyn looked up at him and broke in a radiant smile before answering in character, “well what am I to do when you are not here?”

 

Faramir closed the distance between them and gently her shifted her broken leg so she would be more at ease. “Is that better?”

 

“Much,” she answered and felt even better when he leaned over and met her lips with a gentle kiss. Husband and wife shared a moment of tender embrace and more passionate kisses before Faramir pulled away and Eowyn glowed with pleasure at seeing him.

“You received our message?” She asked.

 

“Yes,” he nodded as he circled the bed and nestled himself in the empty space beside her. “We rode here as quickly as possible but it appears we were not needed.”

 

“You were needed,” Eowyn remarked resting her head against his shoulder, happy that he was with her again because it was when she was at her most vulnerable that she could truly appreciate how wonderful he was. “I needed you.”

 

“I would ride through fire for you,” Faramir met her gaze, meaning it with earnest.

 

“I know,” she sighed, her hand reaching for his face with affection. “I am glad you are here now for I wish to tell you something. I should have told you before you left to join our armies but I was afraid that it would make it so much harder for you leave. I was wrong in that and I am sorry.”

 

“Eowyn,” Faramir took her hand from his cheek and squeezed it gently in his own. “Tadgh told me. You are with child.”

 

“Yes,” she nodded, wishing that she could have told him herself but it no longer mattered as long as he knew. “I did not wish to keep you from doing what was necessary. I feared that you would worry leaving me if you knew. I am sorry my love, it was not my intention to hide from you the truth.”

 

“I will worry about you Eowyn,” Faramir answered firmly, grateful for her consideration though he would have preferred the benefit of the doubt. Still, she thought very much like a woman in such matters, even if she could fight as well as any man. “As long as I live, I will worry about you because I love you. Whether or not I stay here in Ithilien at your side until the end of our days or journey across the world that will not change. However my concern for you does not alter my responsibilities to my king or to my country. I will gladly fight any battle because I know what I fight for will ensure that our child will never know war. For that I would go anywhere and fight anyone. You need not worry about such news distracting me. How can it be when I know that distraction will only keep me from making this world a better place our child?”

 

“Our son,” Eowyn declared with surprising certainty.

 

“It matters little to me if it is a boy or a girl,” he shrugged and surprised himself by meaning it. He was not Denethor “I will love it all the same.”

 

“It  _is_  a boy,” she repeated herself, her eyes dancing with absolute confidence in her belief. “I am certain of it.”

 

“How?” He regarded with one brow cocked.

 

“A woman knows these things,” she said smugly, amusing herself with the fact that her response would frustrate him to no end.

 

“That is not an answer,” he insisted with a frown, aware that she was teasing him. This was not a new debate. “Men never say such things. We do not presume to know without proof how things can be.”

 

“Well is it not obvious why?” Eowyn stared at him impatiently, her lips curling into a little smile.

 

“No,” he snorted, giving her a look. “It is not.”

 

“You are not women,” she quipped as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

 

Faramir rolled his eyes and cried defeat. There were times when it was far easier battling the enemy than attempting to understand his wife.

* * *

 

 

Eomer was hardly surprised when the message reached him at the Golden Hall of Meduseld.

 

In truth, he had been expecting it ever since he learnt of the attack upon Eden Ardhon. Since the beginning of hostilities at Lebethron, it was clear that none of the leaders of the Ruling Council of Middle earth knew what they faced. On each front, they had been taken by surprise and attacked in large numbers. It was a sad fact but true, that the past weeks had shown them quite clearly that the enemy far more organised than they had managed to be. Their victory against Sauron had made them over confident and as a result, their people had paid the price for their mistake. They needed to determine a plan of attack or a darkness equal to Sauron’s plans for Middle earth may take place after all.

 

If the request for an attendance to a council meeting did not surprise Eomer, then the appearance of Imrahil at his court to deliver it, certainly was. The Prince of Dol Amroth had taken the opportunity to ride to Rohan in order to see for himself, the welfare of his daughter while the armies of Gondor led by Aragorn, continued their journey to Ithilien. Imrahil and Eomer had become friends during the War of the Ring. Eomer had ridden at Theoden’s side when the Rohirrim rode to Gondor. Though very different from Theoden, Imrahil had proved himself to be a man of honour and their friendship had strengthened through the passage of years.

 

Admittedly, Eomer was rather glad to see Imrahil in the Golden Hall because the presence of her father would certainly brighten Lothiriel spirits. Since the attack upon Edoras and the incident in the catacombs when Lothiriel had used her magic to protect the women and children hiding in the caves during the battle, the lady of Dol Amroth had been greatly trouble. Eomer sensed it had to do with the having to see the faces of the men she had sent to death. She had used her powers earlier that day to escape the Dunlendings in order to reach Edoras to raise the alarm. Then she had been so afraid, that her eyes had been closed tightly so that she would see nothing except the evidence of her sorcery when the danger was passed.

 

It was quite something else to see them die, to see the life drain out of them. To know that everything they would ever in this world or to the ones they loved, was extinguished in an instant and then to remember that she was responsible, that she had been the reason for the diminishing light in their eyes. Eomer understood Lothiriel’s anguish far better than she could have possibly imagined. He was a warrior born, it was all that he had ever known but the first time he had killed had changed him forever. If it were one of his men, he would have told them that it was simply the nature of things, a blooding ritual required of every soldier throughout the ages. He did not know how to say the same things to Lothiriel and it broke his heart that he was unable because he could see her pain and it stabbed at him like a knife.

 

“I am glad that you are here Prince of Dol Amroth,” Eomer said as he accompanied Imrahil to the garden where Lothiriel could be found, once the greetings were done. “Your daughter needs you.”

 

“Why?” Imrahil stared at him, a silvery dark brow cocked up in question and suspicion. Imrahil had not been completely comfortable with his daughter remaining in Edoras despite his pleasure that Lothiriel and Eomer genuinely cared for each other. It was not proper and in all truth, he had more than sufficient grounds to demand Eomer marry his daughter after her unchaperoned stay in the Golden Hall.

 

“During the attack upon Edoras by the Dunlending curs,” Eomer began with more venom then he intended. “The women and children were taken to the catacombs below the city to wait in safety. Your daughter went with them and acquitted herself as well as any Lady of Edoras. You would have been so proud of her Imrahil, she kept her head and ensured no one lost hope.”

 

“She has always had strength,” Imrahil said warmly. He loved his only daughter deeply in spite of her eccentricities. “It exists within her as more than just her magic but in her character as well. She is determined and brave.”

 

“Qualities which she proved most adeptly when the Dunlendings found the sanctuary and broke through,” Eomer declared.

 

“Is she alright?” Imrahil asked with natural alarm, the atrocities at Eden Ardhon too fresh in his mind to allow him to take such news calmly.

 

“She is fine,” Eomer said quickly, assuaging Imrahil’s fears. “They however, are not. Imrahil, she used her magic and saved all of those in hiding with her. We found them buried alive in the ground, as if they had been drowned in sand. I believe Lothiriel saw them die as her spell unfolded. She does not seemed to have suffered physical injury but her soul carries the weight of their deaths heavily.”

 

Imrahil drew in a breath and uttered a short, sardonic laugh devoid of humour. “This discussion in one I expect to have with my sons, not my daughter.”

 

“She did what was necessary,” Eomer said in Lothiriel’s defense though he need not have worried. “If she had not, none of the women and children would have survived.”

 

“We both know that the intention behind the taking a life, no matter how right the cause does not ease the conscience of those who are called upon to commit the act,” Imrahil answered softly. “When my sons rode into combat for the first time, I explained to them the way of things as I expect you do to the men under your command.”

 

“Yes,” Eomer nodded. “If I could tell her the way I tell them it would be simple because we are Rohirrim, we live and we die for the survival of our people. I do not know how to console Lothiriel in this. I love her Imrahil and it pains me to see her so grieved. The Dunlendings she killed would not feel this same remorse in her place, if they even deign to think of it at all.”

 

“Then I will speak to her,” Imrahil smiled, squeezing Eomer’s shoulder in affection.

 

“There is one other thing,” Eomer spoke up because there was little time to waste and because they would soon be riding for Ithilien.

 

“Yes?” The Prince of Dol Amroth regarded the King of the Mark.

 

“You and I must leave for Ithilien as soon as possible in order to attend the meeting of the council,” Eomer spoke as if his next words were finding difficulty leaving his throat but it had to be said. “When I leave the Golden Hall, I would like to leave it in the hands of my queen. Lothiriel has earned the right to be my queen and she was far more certain of our love then I. I wish to marry your daughter before we depart Edoras.”

 

Imrahil absorbed Eomer’s request and knew that the young king was quite smitten by his daughter and there was no doubt as to his affection for her. With the times so uncertain, it was understandable that Eomer would desire the joining with Lothiriel sooner rather than later. It pleased Imrahil to no end because he had thought up the match to begin with but he would commit his child to nothing until he had spoken to her. If Eomer was right and his Lothiriel was in pain, then that was the first order of business for the Prince of Dol Amroth.

 

“You have my consent to marry her Eomer and my blessing,” his future father in law smiled. “Now let me see my daughter.”

* * *

 

Eomer had been correct that Imrahil’s presence would be the tonic needed to lift Lothiriel’s spirits. Upon seeing him, the young lady of Dol Amroth ran quickly into her father’s embrace, almost overjoyed at his arrival. The past few days had left her in a deep state of melancholy that no amount of comforting words by Eomer could assuage. Although she knew what she had done was necessary, Lothiriel could not forget the image of those men as they died. It had burned itself into her memory like a branding iron and despite her reluctance to admit it, she knew she would never be the same again.

 

Imrahil could see immediately that Eomer was right in his assertion that Lothiriel was marked by her actions in the catacombs. In truth, he was rather proud of her and growing more so of late because she had proven him wrong that she would never be able to be a magician of any note. Her resourcefulness had saved the kingdom from the shape shifter threat, which would have proved to be an even greater menace to the people of Middle earth, than the war they were presently fighting. However, despite all her progress these recent months, Lothiriel still came from a sheltered upbringing, one that never meant for her to single-handedly vanquish a number of rabid tribesmen braying for blood.

  
”It is so good to see you father,” Lothiriel said with genuine pleasure, the first she had felt in some time.

 

“When I learnt that the king desired a meeting between all the members of the ruling council, I took the opportunity to play messenger so that I may visit you here and see how my daughter fares,” Imrahil answered as they both sat on a stone seat in the gardens she liked so well. It had suffered a little damage during the battle but it still provided her with enough beauty to make her troubles seem very far away indeed.

 

“I fare well,” she lied and was certain he knew it but it was a conditioned response.

 

“The king tells me you saved a good number of his people,” Imrahil remarked, wishing to draw out the truth about what had happened from her. It would help immensely if she revealed her feelings on what she had done.

 

“I did so by taking a good many lives,” Lothiriel replied turning away, unable to look at him because she was so ashamed.

 

“Child,” Imrahil placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and commanded firmly in a voice she could not disobey, “look at me.”

 

Lothiriel faced him with glistening eyes.

 

Imrahil let out a deep breath and wiped the moisture from her eyes with one fingertip, “I do not know how to bandy about words that will make this any better for you. There is no consolation to the heart when one has taken a life. It marks you inside, no matter how much you wished it did not. I will say to you the same thing that I have said to both your brothers when they have been forced to ride into combat. In war, people die. Those are the rules we must abide. We cannot change them because it is the way of things. War is not meant to be chivalry and glory. It is a dirty, ugly business that leaves the mark of blood upon your hands for all time. Yet if you spilled that blood in good conscience, in full awareness that there was no other recourse, then you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

“Oh father!” Lothiriel cried out, her fragile emotional state crumbling instantly. “I cannot forget their eyes as they died, knowing that they were going to die, because of me! How can I bear this weight upon my soul? I know they would not have mourned me if it were me in their place but it make little difference to how I feel.”

 

“Lothiriel,” her father took her hands in his and met her gaze, “you must learn to live with it. There is no remedy, not in words or magic that can make this expedient. It is simply is as I have spoken. You will learn to live with it, as many of us who have killed in our lifetimes have learnt, because we must. Your life will continue and in time, the pain will lessen. You have the love of your family, a king who is most eager to marry you and your magic.”

 

“No,” she shook her head, “not my magic. I will never use it again.”

 

Imrahil wondered if she ought to dissuade her but decided to remain silent for the moment. Time was a healer and he suspected once her heart was not so ravaged by what had taken place, she would think differently. “That is your choice but for now, you have greater concerns to consider.”

 

“Greater concerns?” Lothiriel wiped her eyes, accepting what her father had said because he was the one source, which she found more irrefutable than all others. When he had chosen Eomer to her husband, Lothiriel learnt how much his father knew her because his selection had been made to further her happiness, not to sell her into slavery as she had originally believed. If she said that she would survive this, then she would believe him. Imrahil may have been angry and sometimes harsh because of her behaviour, but he had never lied to her about anything.

 

“Yes,” Imrahil nodded, certain she had not really heard when he had spoken about Eomer’s desire to marry her. “Eomer will be riding to Ithilien with me as soon as possible. It is important that we decide what course we are to take to combat the enemy. The King of the Mark wishes to leave Edoras in the hands of its queen when he departs. He wants to marry you and I have consented.”

 

Lothiriel eyes widened, “he said he wanted to wait…”

 

“Perhaps once,” Imrahil said with a smile because the idea of marrying her king did not displease Lothiriel and had lit up her eyes with something other than grief. “I think you have proved yourself worthy of his people and he loves you, it shines from his eyes when he speaks of you.”

  
”I love him,” Lothiriel answered without hesitation.

 

“Well then, it is settled,” Imrahil grinned, “it appears we have a wedding to attend today.”

 

And so it came to pass that Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was wed finally to King Eomer of Rohan before the court of Edoras, with her father, the Lord of Dol Amroth in attendance. Though Eomer would have preferred to gather all his friends across Middle earth for the ceremony, expediency required him to proceed. He promised himself that once this war was done, he and his queen would celebrate their union with more fanfare. As it was, the people of Edoras who knew that this was union of love, not merely of political convenience, were terribly pleased for their beloved king and attended the ceremony even it if lacked the fanfare of grandeur.

 

It was simply enough that in the midst of some much destruction, there was life.

 

Lothiriel and Eomer shared one night together as husband and wife, discovering secret pleasures in each other that only deepened the bond between them. He was gentle and patient with her, making the experience of the body a wonderful experience she would keep with her until they were able to share another night together again. When he rode away to Ithilien the next morning, there were no tearful farewells, just a passionate kiss and promise to take care while they were apart. Lothiriel stood before the Golden Hall and watched as her king rode into the distance, knowing that time not only healed all wounds but would also bring him back to her.

* * *

 

For the first time since this conflict had been thrust upon them, the leaders of Middle earth found themselves gathered in each other’s company once again. As they converged within the meeting hall of Faramir’s fortress, the effect of the war was evident upon all them. Personal defeats marked their countenance; from the very slight to grievous wounds no amount of time could heal. In better days, they were more than just allies, they were friends but as they sat around the table in the great hall, devoid of any other presence, they faced each other as leaders of their own realms. For the moment, friendships could wait because war had come to Middle earth and allies had more weight in such times.

 

Aragorn swept his gaze across his friends despite the serious atmosphere in the room and found his concern largely centred around Legolas. He and the elf had been friends for the better part of sixty years and it was the first time Aragorn had ever seen this side of him. To say that it was unnerving was to put it mildly and it appeared that Legolas’ outrage at what had happened at Eden Ardhon had only served to stoke the rest of the elves into a similar state of fury. When he had arrived with Faramir at Emyn Arnen and seen the results of the elves surprising entry into the war, he had been astonished by the savagery that had seen half the Easterling army lying dead on the battlefield.

 

Of course he knew they had it in them to be so blood thirsty. The elves had warred longer than any other race in Middle earth and though it might appear that they were a peaceful, tranquil people, it was never wise to assume too much. When properly inspired or provoked, their fury burned brighter than Yavanna’s light in the sky. Only a day ago, Gwaihir, the Windlord had delivered to Aragorn a message from Elladan and Elrohir at Imlardis. While they did not desire to leave their father’s city for such an extended period of time, they were willing to commit troops in the defence of Rohan since Eomer’s Rohirrim cavalry would almost certainly be needed on the front lines.

 

Haldir sat at the table next to Legolas, representing Lord Celeborn in this council. It was the first time Celeborn had deigned to take part in matters of men since his departure from Lothlorien. However, the real surprise was Thranduil. The Woodland King had a reputation for being uninterested in any matters beyond the Woodland Realm. That he had provided his son with an army would almost be unbelievable if not for the thousands of Easterlings corpses in the of burning process in a funeral pyre beyond the fortress walls.

 

“Well let’s get on with it,” Gimli rumbled, never able to sit in place too long in silence. The sombre faces around the dwarf were making the situation even more intolerable for the dwarf who decided to take it upon himself to prompt the proceedings forward. “We have a great deal to discuss.”

 

“Well said Master Gimli,” Aragorn replied, deciding that he was right. They had been caught unawares by everything until now and that they had not managed to lose any territory was mere good luck, nothing else. Luck, Aragorn found, was seldom an eternal spring and would eventually run dry. “The Rangers have sighted the army of the enemy retreating southwards. They may be returning home.”

 

“After their loses here, it would not be unsurprising,” Faramir agreed, remembering the scenes of carnage as well. However, he did not feel any sense of compassion for the enemy that had been killed, not when Eowyn and their unborn child had barely managed to survive the engagement. “The question is do we let them go or do we follow them?”

 

“We follow them,” Legolas said firmly and not unexpectedly. “We follow them all the way to their cities and burn it down around their ears.”

 

“We could do that but I am not entirely certain that is wise,” Aragorn replied.

 

“I do not see why not,” Legolas shot him a look. “They have plagued these lands for as long as can be remembered, even before this. First, yoked to Morgoth’s harness and then to Sauron. This is only the latest incursion and it will not be the last unless we put a stop to it.”

 

The intensity of his words made it difficult for anyone to refute him and Aragorn could see that even Haldir was somewhat taken back by the venom in Legolas’ manner.

 

“I must agree with Lord Legolas in this,” Eomer found himself saying. “Rohan is drenched with blood because the enemy had incited the Dunlendings and the goblins of Moria to become involved in this conflict. Leaderless, they were nothing but rabble, having little desire to stray beyond their territories. Now they have spread to the White Mountains in Rohan and dare to attack Edoras. No,” Eomer shook his head. “This cannot be allowed to continue. The Confederacy must be broken or else we will never know anything more than an intermittent peace.”

  
Imrahil could see his king’s discomfort at the concept of leading all of Middle earth to war and attempted to speak in a more conciliatory tone. He too agreed with what was being said. With the exception of the elves, Imrahil had experienced more Easterling aggression than anyone present. For years, the enemy both with and without Sauron’s endorsement had plagued Gondor.

 

“Sire,” he turned his gaze to the king. “For as long as we can remember, the Haradrim and the Easterlings had constantly waged war against Gondor. Whether it was at the insistence of Sauron or through their own auspices, they have made it clear that there will never be a peace so long as they are allowed to govern themselves. We have never pursued them back into their lands, we have never been strong enough. Not for many ages have we been allied together as strongly as we are now, we will neve have another opportunity and I fear if we do not take it, they will simply lick their wounds and return when their numbers have risen again.”

 

“I know,” Aragorn offered Imrahil a grateful smile. He knew all these things but he was not a warring man by nature and an offensive campaign was not a course he was comfortable with, no matter what the justification. “I have long attempted to avert this very situation from becoming a reality but I must concede that all your arguments have good weight and that they will never cease their attacks upon our lands unless we put a stop to it in theirs. Their leader has united them and has conspired with others in our lands to war against us in order to weaken our defences. We must show them the consequences of their actions.”

 

Aragorn paused a moment, drawing his breath because he had spent a great deal of time considering how they would proceed once this inevitable decision was made. “We will leave one third of our forces behind to bolster the defences of our cities. Master Gimli, are your people agreeable to aid Rohan and harbour some of the its people in case of an attack?”

 

“Most certainly,” Gimli replied boisterously. “There is plenty of room in Aglarond and if we have to, we can certainly repair the damage at the Hornburg and return it to its former strength.”

 

“Rohan thanks you,” Eomer said to him warmly.

 

“In addition,” Aragorn added. “Imlardis will despatch what warriors it can to defend your realm should the Dunlendings and the goblins attempt to attack Edoras again. That will leave the Westfold protected while the armies remaining here will protect Ithilien and Gondor. Faramir, it would be wise if you sent Eowyn to Minas Tirith as soon as she is fit to travel. Your women and children should move further away from the border. I do not think the enemy will attempt to attack once they learn that we are marching towards their lands but it is a wise precaution nevertheless.”

 

“It will be done,” Faramir nodded in agreement with all of Aragorn’s orders, particularly the suggestion that Eowyn should be sent to the White City. He knew she would protest this but he would have her there even if he were forced to send her there across the back of a horse, bound and gagged.

 

“The question now remains, in which direction do we go?” Aragorn eased back into his chair, waiting for the council to comment.

 

“We go to Harad,” Legolas declared without hesitation.

 

His response was unexpected for they were all certain that he would have preferred to pursue the Easterlings into their homeland in vengeance for what they had done to Melia and the elves of Eden Ardhon. Legolas was well aware of all eyes upon him and supposed that they could not be blamed for their surprise. After all, his actions of late had done nothing to disprove their belief that the elves were waging a very different kind even if they were allies in this conflict. However, Legolas’ desire for justice did not blind him to the fact that it was war they were fighting and their strategy had to be based on expediency not emotion.

 

“You were right,” Legolas explained himself as his eyes met Aragorn’s. “Their leader is among the Haradrim. If we can defeat them, we will show our enemies at home that their allies in the south are not as strong as they believed and it would be wise to desist in any further provocative action. The Easterlings look to Harad for their instructions, without it they are leaderless and divided. We can deal with them at a later time. I say that it is at Harad that we first strike.”

 

“He makes a good point,” Gimli remarked in agreement. “We should cut off the beast’s head and watch the rest of it flounder.”

 

“Are we in agreement of this?” Aragorn stared at the face around him and saw grim approval in their eyes. What lay before them was a campaign that would take them into unfamiliar territory and separate them from their loved ones for many months, if not years. However, it had to be done. Too much blood had been split, to many lives left in ruin because of the enemy’s refusal to believe that peaceful coexistence was possible.

 

“Yes,” came a chorus of unanimous replies, leaving no question about the course they were agreeing to take.

 

For so long Aragorn had tried to avert this. Since becoming king, Aragorn had sought to reconcile the races of men and mend the wounds that had kept them at war for so many years. He had made gestures and attempts at goodwill and the outcome of all that effort was to have the Confederacy raising enemies on the borders of everyone of his allies. Innocents had been murdered and people close to his heart had been brutalized and hurt. No more.

 

There was a time for peace and time to fight. They were beyond even that now.

 

Legolas was right in what he had told the Haradrim king. They were coming and nothing was going to stop them.

 

The enemy had wanted war, what it would receive would be annihiliation.

 

 

**THE END FOR NOW.**


End file.
